


Apple of Eden

by theoreoqueen



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreoqueen/pseuds/theoreoqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a "Utopian" future, the government decides who you marry. For Kurt, he's always trusted the system and dreamed of meeting his assigned spouse. However, he's Matched with Blaine Anderson, a boy with a past he could have never prepared himself for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who might not already know, this is somewhat based off of the book 'Matched' by Ally Condie. It's a-okay if you haven't read the book, you'll still be able to understand what's going on (in due time, at least). If there's anything that's confusing or not stated clearly, please let me know!  
> In the meantime, I'm SUPER excited for this story! Hope you enjoy ~

Kurt never pictured himself being scared to death on meeting his soon-to-be husband.

In his mind, today was supposed to be the day where butterflies made home in his chest and joy sprinted throughout his veins. It was like all the great love stories said, about Love at First Sight and Meant to Be.

But Kurt did not feel happiness. He did not feel bubbling anticipation or uncontrollable eagerness. No, he sat next to his father on the monorail with his arms hugging tight over his stomach, feeling faint and nauseous.

And he couldn’t figure out _why_.

“Why you lookin’ so green, bud?” Burt Hummel, asked, nudging his arm. Tonight, his father abandoned his faded shirt and worn blue jeans for a formal, black tux with a matching tie, his eyes concerned for his son.

Kurt shrugged, not knowing where to begin. For eighteen years he had dreamt of this day, of meeting his one true love. He fantasized about his perfect Match, when they would fall in love, how they would grow old together in Utopia.

Though now, with the reality of the Matching Ceremony actually _happening_ to him and all those repressed doubts of, _What if he doesn’t like me? What if I don’t like him?! What if he smells or is ugly or hates my music taste…?_

His dad patted his shoulder. “Nerves, huh?”

This time, Kurt nodded. At least that was the closest definition on what he felt. He turned, staring out the window. Buildings and skyscrapers whizzed by, their shades purple and blue from dusk.

“I remember my Matching Ceremony,” Burt continued, probably figuring talking to Kurt would distract him. (Well, it sort of worked). “I was completely terrified. Seeing the girls from all over Utopia at the banquet and thinking...wow, one of them is going to be _my_ wife.” Kurt glanced away from the window, and his dad smiled at him. “I could have never prepared myself when I saw your mother for the first time.”

“Was she…” Kurt asked, voice a bit soft. “She really _was_ your perfect Match, right?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Burt grinned, as if Kurt asked if the sky really _was_ blue. “Sure, when we were first married, it took some time to navigate around each other. You’re starting a new chapter of your life with a person you barely know. But once you do get to know them…” He blew out a long exhale. “It’s something special, Kurt.”

 Kurt nodded, playing with his fingers idly. He knew he shouldn’t be worried. The reason Matching existed in the first place was to create the most fitting parents to raise the future generation, so society could flourish in perfect harmony. They say, with Matching, couples live happier lives together. Love lasts longer when the government finds your other half.

Though, Kurt didn’t have to stay in his current state much longer for the monorail was slowing. A clear woman’s voice said over the speakers, “ _Now arriving to Utopia’s Capitol Building. Please remain seated until complete stop_.”

Burt cleared his throat, smoothing down his suit jacket. “Well, here’s our stop.”

Kurt’s eyes widened, and he snapped his head at the window. Outside, against the purple and blue structures, was the yellow-lit Capitol Building, its dome standing out uniquely against rectangular architectures nearby. Even from a distance, Kurt could see other eighteen year old’s like him, dressed formally and walking in with their parents.

He gulped, suddenly feeling more likely to faint than puke. The monorail finally came to a halt at the station, and passengers were beginning to stand.

Except for Kurt, who couldn’t tear his eyes away from the window, coming to the simple fact of, _My soulmate is right over there._

* * *

He had never seen such a magnificent place.

The Banquet Hall inside the Capitol Building was so large and spacious. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and velvety red carpet stretched across the floor. Tables upon tables lined the hall, with pristine white tablecloths and intricate flower and pearl centerpieces.

Little cards written with their names told them where to sit, and Kurt luckily sat at a middle table, across from his school friend Mercedes Jones.

Mercedes lived in Second District, though children from all Districts learn at the same establishment. She shared Kurt’s admiration for fashion, and was the only person he dared share any of his future Match fantasizes to. Tonight, her smile was wide and bright, and her dress a deep violet, hugging her curves in all the right ways. Her dark hair was curled, spilling onto her shoulders.

After saying hello to her mother and father, Kurt whispered to her across the table, “You look like a princess.”

She giggled, winking at him. “And you a handsome prince.”

He knew she was savoring this one-time occasion of dressing up. Formal attire such as colorful gowns or sharp tuxedos wasn’t a necessity to their everyday lives, they shouldn’t have to be worried with it. However, since the Matching Ceremony was such an important event, the government allowed this rule to slide for one night.

Waiters in cream-colored suit jackets and pressed black slacks came out one by one, carrying silver trays of food to each guest. Each attendee was given food to accommodate their personal health, as to make sure they were in the ideal condition.

Kurt didn’t mind, he ate through his steak and mashed potatoes contently. But when he glanced up, he caught his friend’s brief look of disappointment when she was given salad yet again.

A sudden idea told him to offer her some of his food, but that was quickly pushed down with common sense. Officers were all around the hall, stationed with their pure white uniforms and guns. Not to mention the cameras and motion sensors. He’d be asking for a death wish.

When dinner was finished and the tables were cleared, a tap from a microphone could be heard from the stage, and a voice spoke through the speakers, “Attention...attention children and parents.”

Everyone turned in their chairs to get a better look, and Kurt recognized the man right away. Mr. Figgins, a short man with a receding hairline and mostly monotonous voice, served as spokesperson for the Mayor. He was the one to talk at conferences and events. It was no surprise he stood at the Banquet Hall’s stage now.

“Congratulations, young citizens of Utopia,” he said, gazing back and forth across the crowd before back at his hologram cue card. “For being the product of a perfect society. Tonight, you will meet your soon-to-be spouse, and continue this tradition.”

Mr. Figgins then began reciting the long lasting history of how their society was formed and why Matching was the ideal system, but Kurt knew all this already. To sum it up, society beforehand was chaotic and cluttered. Too many people were free to make the wrong choice, which eventually ended in self-destruction.

In their ashes, a new and better government rose, and they created Utopia. There, they monitored their citizens, making sure they were the happiest and healthiest and most fulfilling to their society. They chose where you lived, where you worked, and who you married.

Utopia was divided into four sections: the Capitol, where the government was located and a majority of work was. Then, right outside of the Capitol was First District, where Kurt lived. Split into five neighborhoods, they were considered the ‘high class citizens,’ with large fancy homes and clean yards.

Right outside First District was Second District. Not much of a drastic change, although there were more neighborhoods and smaller houses. Most children were friends with others from those two districts, and it wasn’t uncommon to ask official permission to visit. A majority of Utopia’s citizens lived in Second District.

Then, across miles of farmland and factories, was Third District. Kurt’s only seen pictures, but he could guess what it must be like to live there. Shoddy houses, gritty yards, and limited transportation. Either you were unluckily born in Third District, or you must have done something truly despicable.

Once finished, Mr. Figgins waited for the polite applause to die down before clearing his throat and swiping his hologram cue card. “Now...when I call your name I invite you to stand, then when I call your Match’s name they will stand as well. That way, we can pair you up, and you two can start your lives by enjoying dessert together.” The crowd chuckled, and Mr. Figgins smiled a little (even though his cue card probably told him to).

He cleared his throat, and the room went silent. “Rachel Berry.”

Kurt recognized the name. He didn’t know if he considered the short brunette girl--who tonight wore a coral pink dress and looked rather nervous with being the first one called--a friend or a respected acquaintance. He admired her work ethic, which will certainly land her a highly valued job.

“Your Match is…” Mr. Figgins paused, perhaps for anticipation, before, “Finn Hudson.”

The guests applauded as a taller boy-- _significantly_ taller than Rachel--stood from the far left table, his smile flustered and goofy. Rachel blushed intensely at her Match, but couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

A few anxieties from before calmed down. _Alright, so maybe love at first sight isn’t a myth…_

As the two were gathered by Officers and sat together, Mr. Figgins read the next name. Gradually, people from his own table left their parents to sit with their Match, dwindling their numbers one by one. Kurt became fidgety. He played with his cufflinks or checked his tie, his nerves charging adrenaline.

For the Matching process, one needed to fill out a survey. This asked questions such as what your interests were, what activities you enjoyed, what your biggest pet peeve was, and who you’d rather marry: a boy or a girl. Kurt instantly chose ‘boy,’ for he knew he wanted a husband since he was small. But all the boys at the ceremony were being Matched off, and Kurt couldn’t dare look over the remaining.

_Don’t worry, your soulmate is still in this room…_

“Mercedes Jones,” read Mr. Figgins next.

Mercedes stood, putting on a winning smile. Her mother and father held each other’s hand, holding their breath to hear the next name. Kurt let himself forget his ridiculous unease and smiled up at her, having her catch his eye and giggle.

“Your Match is Samuel Evans.”

The boy was right at the table next to theirs, and bumped his chair as he tried to stand up hastily. He looked rather opposite of Mercedes in appearance: blond hair and pale skin, tall and muscular. Although, he had the widest smile when he met her eyes, like she was the sun itself.

But now, Kurt was alone with his father, waiting on the edge of his seat for his name to be called. Less and less people were single, more and more were sitting next to their Matches. Kurt gulped, folding and unfolding his hands. The wait was agonizing.

His father turned away from Mr. Figgins, smiling at Kurt reassuringly. “Hey, calm down. They save the best for last, right?”

Kurt let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and nodded, smiling back.

“And finally,” Mr. Figgins said, appearing a bit bored with reading so many names. “Noah Puckerman.”

Kurt perked up, whipping his head at the last boy to stand. Like Mr. Figgins, he looked bored out of his mind. Tan, with a square jaw and mohawk-styled hair, the buttons of his tux jacket undone. Kurt exhaled, figuring he could live with that, it’s not like this Noah was _terrible_ looking…

“Your Match is,” Mr. Figgins sighed, pausing this time to gather energy to read the name rather than dramatic effect. Kurt gripped the side of his chair, preparing himself to stand, for his name to finally, _finally_ be read.

“Quinn Fabray.”

Kurt felt his mouth drop, but otherwise he remained frozen.

A pretty blonde girl rose from her chair, looking rather pleased with her Match. Mr. Figgins congratulated everyone on their Matches, and hoped they enjoyed this rare dessert provided by the government themselves. Waiters began coming out with silver trays again, this time carrying pieces of chocolate cake with whipped cream on top.

Kurt couldn’t move.

His father, however, did, and his face was wrinkled in confusion. “Why on earth--?” he began, twisting around to see Mr. Figgins walk off the stage, and then turned the other way to try and find an Officer or someone with an explanation.

Meanwhile, Kurt felt sick. His stomach wanted to discard of all the food he ate that evening while his eyes wanted to burst into a waterfall. His heart pounded too fast against his ribcage, and his mouth felt too dry.

There was a mistake, there _had_ to be a mistake--

“Ah, Kurt Hummel,” said a voice behind him, and Kurt somehow remembered how to move to face her.

She was thin, with dirty blonde hair tucked up in a bun while her jacket and pencil skirt were the same white as the Officer’s uniforms. She smiled at him, sympathetically, and said, “You and your father need to come with me.”

* * *

They were taken to a room right next to the Banquet Hall. A small, sterile-smelling office, with grey-blue walls and a stainless steel rectangular table in the center. Kurt and his dad both took a seat at it, while the woman walked at the head of the table, folding her hands in front of her.

“Now, I know you might be confused.” She smiled that same sympathetic smile again. “I am Isabelle Wright. I am the head of the Matching Department.”

“Are you going to explain why my son didn’t get a Match tonight?” Burt asked rather sharply. Kurt stared at his dad, appalled. He too was lost on this whole situation, but to snap at such an official person…

Isabelle, however, held up a palm calmly. “No worries. Kurt Hummel does have a Match.”

Instantly, the weight eating at Kurt’s chest vanished. He relaxed his shoulders, feeling relieved for the first time all day.

“However,” Isabelle continued, her smile gone to a frown. “There is an issue we needed to discuss in private.”

Kurt tensed again, and he glanced at his father, who had his arms crossed and his jaw stiff. He knew how much this ceremony meant to Kurt, and now with all these complications…

Isabelle brought out a shiny rod-like object from her jacket and flicked on her hologram clipboard. “Kurt Hummel, we found your ideal Match is from Third District.”

The news brought less shock to Kurt than he expected. True, if anyone would have told Kurt this information earlier he would have been astonished, for rarely anyone from First and Third District Matched. But, given he was just grateful he still _had_ a Match, this brought minimal surprise.

“Oh. Alright,” Kurt said, shrugging a little. “Um, does that mean he’ll live in First District with me then? Since you live at the one with the highest District’s--”

“Yes, _but_ ,” Isabelle said, eyeing Kurt then his father, “there is a reason your Match was not allowed on government property.”

They both remained silent, holding their breath for her to explain further.

She sighed, swiping her hologram clipboard blank and bringing it up to her chest, folding her arms. “Your Match’s family has been known for their criminal records. Such as defying governmental rules, vandalizing government property, and even trying to travel past the borders.”

Kurt could only stare, eyes wide and in shock.

“Granted, it wasn’t your Match _himself_ breaking these laws,” Isabelle went on. “Only his father and older brother, who have been punished fairly for their crimes.” She raised her eyebrows a bit. “In the past, eighty-four percent of the time they’re Matched within their own District. Fifteen percent of the time they’re Matched with someone from Second District, and only one percent have had a Match from First District.”

“So…” Kurt said slowly, uncertain what to say from that. The information was more than he ever could imagine. “I’m...not allowed to marry him?”

“Oh, no.” Isabelle shook her head. “We are simply giving you the option. Since this boy’s family history is tainted in the eyes of our government, we are making sure if one of our most promising citizens would want to be married to that.”

His eyes left hers and stared at the table, thinking, breathing. Not being married in this society was almost a bad omen. People say you lived shorter, you’re prone to depression, you have less of a purpose…

Still, that criminal record wasn’t something Kurt exactly could’ve prepared for. Yes, he had to remind himself that it wasn’t his Match who did the crimes, that his Match was innocent. Meaning he could be good, he could be kind. And why would Utopia Match him with someone who wasn’t right for Kurt?

Kurt trusted the society he lived in. He trusted his government knew what was best. His father still looked uncertain, given how much he grinded his jaw, but he waited for Kurt to make the choice.

Finally, Kurt looked up and bravely met Isabelle’s eyes, nodding slowly. “Yes. I trust he is still my best Match. I...I would like to still marry him.”

* * *

A month later called for another trip to the Capitol, this time without a tuxedo.

Still the same nerves, if not more. This time guaranteed Kurt meeting him, and not to mention they would be signing their marriage license.

Kurt scoffed to himself, watching the buildings zoom by outside the monorail window as his father read a hologram newspaper. To think, everyone else his age had been getting to know their Match for a month. Kurt didn’t even know what his looked like.

He did have a name, though. Blaine Anderson. Birthday: April 10. District: Third. Parents: Michael and Pamela Anderson. Siblings: Cooper Anderson, Brother.

He may or may not have memorized the information document Isabelle sent him.

Once there, Kurt and his father were escorted to a large office marked the Matching Department. Inside, a long desk held multiple people either talking into their earpiece or tapping away at their hologram computer keyboards.

One woman motioned for Kurt to step aside to her end, where she had out a blank marriage license already on her desk, two pens at the ready. She was petite and red-headed, and Kurt saw by her name plate her name was Emma Pillsbury-Schuester.

“Now,” she said in a delicate voice, sitting back down at her chair and smiling up at him. “Your Match is, um.” She tapped her keyboard quickly, reading her hologram screen, hesitating. “He has to be personally escorted here, so until he’s--”

Suddenly, the door opened harshly into the office, causing everyone to jump and turn to it.

Kurt quit fidgeting nervously with his cardigan’s sleeves and craned his head around his father’s body, catching sight of two Officers, both holding their large gun in one hand and having the other one on the back of the person in the middle. Who, by Kurt’s assumption, seemed rather irritated with the situation.

The person in question made Kurt suck in a breath with the realization on who he was. A bit on the short side but built compact, was a boy with dark hair styled away, his abnormally thick eyebrows furrowed downward. His clothes had seen better days--a worn grey tee and denim jeans almost tight enough to be considered skinny. His hands were placed in front of him, although surprisingly not cuffed.

“Oh! Mr. Anderson!” Emma stood from her chair a bit unsurely, waving him over much like she did to Kurt, as if the guards weren’t even there. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

It didn’t seem like Blaine had much choice on the matter, but he lifted his eyes up at her still, showing the slightest hint of a smile before the Officers nudged him forward to walk to the desk.

Kurt noticed he had been staring frozen at Blaine ever since he’d enter, probably looking like a gawking fish. He blinked and composed himself, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands or where he should look. His father had shuffled to stand behind him, giving them their space. Blaine was escorted right to Kurt’s side, and Kurt dared to look up.

Blaine was looking at him, oh boy. But instead of a scowl or disgust shot Kurt’s way, Blaine’s eyebrows drifted up, and his mouth parted. His eyes--wide orbs of a warm, whiskey-gold color--kept fixated right at Kurt. And Kurt too felt immobile, like suddenly he was put under a spotlight, he couldn’t look away either.

_That’s my husband_ , he thought.

The Officers stepped back a few inches as well, taking their hands off Blaine and keeping a good grip on their guns. Emma began explaining everything about the license, including the part about their last name.

“You could choose, Anderson or Hummel,” she told them both. “Or you could hyphenate, like my husband and I did.”

Kurt’s heart jumped with the decision, and he had to look at Blaine again. Blaine had been reading the license rather intently, his lips pursed in concentration, but he did lift his head up at Kurt, and said, “I don’t mind.”

Oh, his voice was lovely too. Kurt swallowed, having to look away or otherwise he’d be a blushing mess. “Um. We could hyphenate. Anderson-Hummel, or something.”

Emma smiled and nodded, writing it down.

Then the moment came where they had to sign. Kurt let Blaine go first, for he thought to take this time to try and calm his heartbeat, but soon it was his turn. He miraculously managed to sign his name steadily.

Lastly, Burt signed as a witness, and Emma pressed the stamp of approval at the bottom. “Congratulations, newlyweds!” She beamed at them, clapping a little. “The rings will be delivered to your assigned home in First District tomorrow. In the meantime,” she made a thumbs-up, “enjoy your honeymoon!”

Kurt said goodbye to his father at the monorail station, where they hugged while the Officers kept guard on Blaine. Burt patted his back, and Kurt tried not to cry, reminding himself that even though he won’t live with his dad, he’ll see him again.

“Your things will be there at your house,” Burt said, voice tight with emotion when he pulled away, gripping Kurt’s shoulder. “You call me when you get your video message system set up, right?”

Kurt nodded, his smile a bit wobbly. “I promise.”

“And, uh,” Burt glanced over his shoulder, where Blaine shifted awkwardly from foot to foot under the gaze of his guards. Then, he looked back at Kurt, lowering his voice, “You be safe, alright?”

Kurt felt his face go hot. “I-I know.”

“And have fun?” Burt lifted a corner of his mouth, shrugging a shoulder. “I mean, he seems like a decent kid. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

If the Matching Ceremony had been like everyone else’s, Burt wouldn’t have needed to say that. If Blaine didn’t have such a complicated family record, if he had been at the Banquet, Kurt wouldn’t be this wary. Other couples have talked over this last month, met each other’s families, learned the basics about their partners. Mercedes always rambled about how funny Sam is. Kurt didn’t know a thing about his husband.

But still, he nodded to his dad, waving goodbye as he walked on a different monorail for First District. He sighed when the train zipped away, and turned around to realize the Officers and Blaine had come up to him.

“Blaine Anderson will not be escorted to your new home,” said one of the Officers. The thinner one, Kurt guessed it was a woman but a glossy helmet hid their faces. “However, streetlight cameras will show if both of you arrive within ten to twenty minutes. If not, we will have to personally come and inspect ourselves.” She turned her head at Blaine, who lowered his gaze.

Kurt opened his mouth, somewhat unsure how to respond to such authority, but did manage to nod.

The two Officers left them for the next monorail, and they boarded together. Blaine took the window seat, leaving Kurt next to the aisle. The sun was setting outside, casting orange across buildings and structures.

Since Blaine wasn’t saying anything, Kurt stayed alone with his thoughts and anxieties. Yes, the monorail would take them to their new home together. A house built and furnished for a newlywed couple. All their personal belongings from their previous homes would be there in moving boxes, as Kurt’s father promised.

Yet, it wasn’t a new environment Kurt worried over. Everyone knew this part of the Matching process--the honeymoon. The part Kurt never really fretted over, for once he saw his true love, all doubts afterwards would vanish, right?

Reality turned out far different than his dreams. Now, Kurt sat with stiff knees and shaking hands, his mouth clamped shut. His heart beat would not shut up in his ears.

How could he consummate their marriage when his husband was a complete stranger?


	2. Chapter 2

Their house was truly lovely. Large, with a stone walkway, a trimmed lawn, and a picket fence. The door was made of deep mahogany, and when Blaine opened it up a sudden smell of vanilla rushed through the air.

Kurt kept his eyes on the interior, taking in the shiny new appliances in the kitchen or the basket of fresh fruit on the island. Their living room connected to their kitchen, providing soft carpet and an untouched red sofa. A dining room could be spotted, having a rectangle table and six cushioned chairs.

“Wow,” Blaine said, and Kurt almost jumped with the noise. His husband had his mouth slack, staring at the furniture and the lights above their heads. Kurt considered making a funny face, then he remembered the pictures of the houses in Third District.

Was this possibly the nicest home Blaine had ever been in?

“Um,” Kurt said, crossing his arms. He could feel Blaine staring at him even though Kurt tried to keep his eyes elsewhere. “I think our personal items are upstairs so--so, I’ll just…” He jutted a thumb at the staircase, hoping Blaine would get the idea but hopefully not follow.

The boxes were in their bedroom, of course. Kurt shut the door behind him when he entered, leaning his back against the door and finally allowing himself to breathe.

Blaine wasn’t terrible. Blaine was so far alright. Quiet, yes, but not hideous in any way. He made Kurt nervous, and not in the way Kurt’s used to. He felt flustered when Blaine looked at him. He forgets how to speak when he’s near.

Boxes. Right. Most were labeled with Kurt’s name while only a handful had Blaine’s. Kurt went to his, ignoring the large four-poster bed in the center of the room. He ripped off the tape and opened the lids, feeling a sense of relief when he saw his favorite pair of shoes.

Busying himself with unpacking helped Kurt forget about his actual honeymoon, which technically was going on right now. He unfolded his clothes and hung them in the closet, claiming the right side. Blaine could have the left. He brought out picture frames and arranged them on the bare dresser and shelves.

One photo showed him and his parents, before his mother died. They were gathered around a younger, chubbier version of Kurt, smiling up at the camera at their dining table, Kurt’s sixth birthday cake in front of them. His father had hair back then. His mother had the brightest smile.

Elizabeth Hummel was born into First District. She had a career working high in the government. After a tragic accident, Officers came to the Hummel home to report the news of her death. Kurt had been eight. It was the first time he saw his father cry.

Burt truly did love her. Their Matching had been a success. Shouldn’t Kurt’s be too?

A quiet knock came from the door. “Kurt? Can I come in?”

Kurt tensed, but forced himself to relax. “Y-yeah.”

Blaine slowly pushed the door open, peeking inside. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows up in interest. “How’s the unpacking?”

Kurt released a sort of breathy laugh. Not what he expected Blaine to ask, but he didn’t mind nonetheless. “Fine. I got most of the stuff out.” His eyes flickered at Blaine. “Do you want to unpack too?”

Blaine laughed, shaking his head. “Nah. I hardly have any things, anyway.”

Kurt nodded, smile fading as he focused back on the picture frame, moving it half an inch forward for no reason.

Blaine was walking towards him, and Kurt couldn’t look at him. Even though he knew Blaine was just checking things out, perhaps still amazed by the furnishing, Kurt just _couldn’t_ look at him. Because what if Blaine asks? And it’s not like Kurt could say no, for the law requires within twenty-four hours of the marriage…

“Kurt?” A hand touched his arm.

Instantly, Kurt jerked back, though a second later he regretted it. For the flash of hurt across Blaine’s face crushed his heart.

“Oh. Oh, my god. I’m sorry--I just--”

“Do you hate me?”

Kurt blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Now Blaine looked bashful, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I mean. I know I’m not…” He gestured at himself. “ _Ideal_ husband material.”

“I--no. No, we’re Matched,” Kurt said, stepping forward to regain the space they lost. “It means we’re perfect for each other.” He made a small smile, meeting Blaine’s eyes. “ _I_ think that means you're more than ideal husband material.”

Oh, wow. He got Blaine to duck his head and blush. And Kurt was being completely honest, too. Maybe Blaine was still a total stranger to him, but at least he’s cute.

“You are too,” Blaine said. He gestured at Kurt this time, his smile broadening. “Like, I never expected to be Matched with someone like you.”

“Like me?” Kurt asked, pointing at himself dumbly.

“Well, yeah.” Blaine stepped forward. Oh, god, Blaine continued stepping forward until he was right up to Kurt. And Kurt was too shocked to back away. “I mean, you’re _incredibly_ gorgeous…”

Blaine’s gaze wasn’t at Kurt, but rather trained at his lips. His eyelids were lowering as he started leaning in, so close Kurt could feel his breath against his own face…

Kurt’s body reacted in two ways. One being his entire brain shut down as his eyes widened. The second being panic, and he sort of squeaked out, “Wait!”

Halting, Blaine looked at Kurt, blinking a few times, like he was concerned. Blush definitely covered Kurt’s face now, and he waved his hand wildly before squeezing his eyes shut and covering them with his palm.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s just…” He lowered his hand, peeking at Blaine’s worried expression. “ _Idon’treallyknowyou_.”

“Don’t--?” Blaine paused, then broke out in a grin. “Oh, right. Hey, I would love to get to know my new husband too.” He stuck out a hand. “My name’s Blaine.”

Kurt snorted at the gesture, feeling less embarrassed and more at ease when he shook Blaine’s hand. “I’m Kurt.”

“Kurt.” Blaine repeated, his eyes warm as his smile softened. He still held Kurt’s hand.

Flustered again, Kurt dropped their hands, and thankfully Blaine suggested next, “Since it’s getting close to nighttime, would you like to shower? I could...I dunno, see what they brought for food? I mean, it’s our house. We could eat on the couch if we wanted.”

Kurt laughed, the image too adorable to contain.

So he found some pajamas and headed to the bathroom. Right across the hall from their shared bedroom, it seemed, with a tub and shower. He twisted on the water before checking the clock.

8:13.

Less than four hours until lights are cut, signifying bedtime.

At least in the shower Kurt could relax. Wash his face and hair, scrub all the tension away from today. The water was perfectly warm, making his muscles lax.

He felt great when he finally slipped into his pajamas.

Just a collared striped set, nothing too fancy. He padded downstairs with his hair still damp, and found Blaine opening his own labeled container.

He looked up and grinned at Kurt. “Don’t you look adorable.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, too flattered to say anything.

For supper they provided him a simple turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato along with a smaller container full of strawberries. He glanced over at Blaine’s food, which was the same sort of sandwich but with a smaller container of almonds.

“Hm,” Blaine said, studying his meal. “Energy food.”

They did eat in the living room, as Blaine promised. Kurt felt entirely foolish but rebellious at the same time. They sat cross-legged next to each other on the sofa, munching on their supper. It was until Kurt bravely asked, “Do--did they bring food everyday out to Third District?” the conversation flowed like a dam breaking free.

Blaine was hesitant on his home life, but answered Kurt’s questions. “I lived my whole life there. I grew up there, made friends with my neighbors there. It’s funny, actually. Anyone who didn’t live in Third District was considered ‘Prissy.’ Like, I think one of my neighbors was Matched with a Second District, and everyone just kept saying, ‘She married a Prissy!’ I dunno, everyone at school called us ‘Low Life.’ I sort of see why my neighbors say that now.

“You probably know about my dad-- _everyone_ seems to know about my dad. _I_ didn’t know much about him. I was six when he was arrested. I just remember him saying not nice things about our society to my mom, and her telling him to keep his mouth shut if he wanted to survive. I dunno, my brother Cooper seemed to believe his every word, since he tried to cross the border when he was eighteen.”

When Kurt gasped, Blaine shrugged and made a crooked smile. “Yeah. I know. He’s...uh, he’s locked up now. Only been me and my mom ever since.”

“Wow…” Kurt said, because that’s all he could say. His food was finished, and Blaine was right, he did feel oddly energized before bed. Usually they sent dinner that make you sleepy, not the opposite.

Blaine leaned against the back of the couch, propping his chin on the heel of his hand. “So what’s your life story, Mr. Anderson-Hummel?”

Well, Kurt’s was shorter, less tragic. “I grew up in First District my whole life. No siblings. My dad’s a mechanic for all the transportation around Utopia. My mother had a job as the head of the Archives Department, cataloging documents and artifacts from this society and societies before. That’s the department I got assigned to, by the way.”

“Whoa, that’s amazing!” Blaine said, genuinely impressed.

Kurt made a goofy smile, feeling like the only thing to do was to shrug. “Yeah, it’s pretty great. She loved her job but...then…” He paused, tight-throated all of the sudden.

Blaine, cautiously, touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

Kurt nodded quickly, staring at his knees. “Yeah. Well, there was an accident. They told us it was this...unclassified object she set off in the department. She was the only one in the lab and…” He lifted a shoulder, hoping to get the point across before he teared up.

Hand still on his arm, Blaine’s thumb rubbed soothingly. “I’m sorry, Kurt.”

He nodded and exhaled, standing to gather their empty meal containers. “Can we continue talking later, maybe? You could take a shower now, if you wanted. I’ll clean up, send in my vital signs report.”

Blaine looked like he wanted to say something else, but just agreed with Kurt in the end.

The house was quiet, except for the muffled noise of the shower upstairs. Kurt recycled their containers, went over to the computer set up in the living room, and did the process he’s done every night of his life. Prick his finger on the square pad, send in his blood sample, click ‘confirm’ on the screen, then that was it.

9:34 and Kurt still didn’t feel tired at all. In fact, he felt ready to jog or bike or do anything to get his heart pumping. Why in the world did they give him that supper?

When Blaine’s shower ended Kurt was continuing his unpacking in the bedroom, and he glanced up when Blaine walked in. He grinned at Kurt, his pajamas a white shirt and plaid pants. His hair was free of its gel, and sprung in damp and wild curls all over his head.

Kurt had to admit, it was pretty cute.

“Continue talking, yeah?” Blaine asked, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

“Uh, actually, we still need to…” Kurt awkwardly eyed the bed, with its bright white covers and multiple plump pillows. Though he couldn’t even bring himself to _kiss_ his husband yet, the law was the law, and curfew ticked closer and closer.

“Hey,” Blaine said, coming up to him and placing his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. “We don’t have to do _anything_ yet, alright?”

“But--”

“Twenty-four hours, Kurt.” Blaine cracked a smile. “That’s how long our honeymoon lasts. Right now we’ve only been married about three hours.” He tilted his head, like a puppy trying to get attention. “We have all the time in the world.”

Exhaling, Kurt agreed. Yes, Blaine was right. Besides, lights-out didn’t mean automatically fall asleep. No one had to work or go anywhere in the morning. They could talk all night if they wanted.

Blaine then skimmed his hands down Kurt’s arms, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the bed. He must have saw Kurt’s uneasy expression, for he quickly explained, “Nothing’s gonna happen. We’re just going to sit, is that okay?”

Once they did sit, it was much like the couch again. Facing each other cross-legged, now with Blaine’s hand holding on to Kurt’s. And when Kurt’s chest remembered how to breathe as well as flutter, he squeezed back.

And they just...talked. Like before the conversation started and kept rolling. Kurt mentioned how excited he was to decorate their home, Blaine chirped in how he would be happy to help. Blaine mentioned how little the government sends over to Third District to repair or remodel their homes, and how life up here is a fantasy come true.

Kurt told him how much he likes fashion. Blaine told him how much he likes to play music.

10:00 rolled around, and Kurt was unable to stop laughing at what Blaine just suggested.

“No. No way.”

“C’mon, we can get permission!”

“No, Blaine!”

“But _Kurt_ ,” Blaine mock-whined, somehow making his golden-brown eyes go wide and pleading. “I’ve always wanted a dog. It can be a small one! Like, a cute little fluffy dog.”

Kurt pursed his lips, shaking his head. “No. I might consider a cat, but a dog is too much work.”

“Wh--not a cute little one!”

Kurt laughed again, throwing his head back and absolutely giggling, his whole body bubbling joy from his chest outward. Blaine joined in too, probably only because Kurt couldn’t stop, but then _Blaine_ couldn’t stop, then the two laughed harder.

Kurt regained himself, his cackles becoming chuckles as he wiped his eyes and figured out how to breathe. His husband took this time to quiet down as well, and he let out a long exhale before lifting his eyes up at Kurt.

Gradually, Kurt saw his expression shift. From delight to something deeper, something Kurt saw before. Back when Blaine called him gorgeous, the gold in his eyes turned dark with desire. Except now, the desire was controlled, steady. His lips parted slightly, and he didn’t blink or look away, just kept his eyes on Kurt.

His hand squirmed a bit in Kurt’s, like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to squeeze to anchor himself or to hold on tighter just to make sure Kurt was still there. Blaine wetted his lips, then asked, “Can I kiss you?”

A four-worded request, and a rather simple one at that. While he didn’t blink or look away as well, Kurt just remained in this frozen state of shock, his pulse doing outrageous things such as spike in his ears or knock against his ribcage.

He knew what he wanted to say, he just didn’t want to be wrong. Blaine was giving him a choice, he just needed to choose.

“Yes.”

Books described first kisses to be epically momentous, with the time of the characters’ lips colliding to be the grandest build up, only to have the kiss itself be indescribably intense. That is what Kurt expected. That is why he braced himself with wide, opened eyes as Blaine carefully leaned forward, cupping a hand on his face, and pressing his lips to Kurt’s.

It wasn’t earth-shattering, like all the books said.

It was toe-tingling. Heart-skipping. Breathtaking. Sweet and gentle.

Kurt remembered to close his eyes after the initial surprise. He didn’t dare move any of his limbs, not while mesmerized by Blaine’s mouth, just ever so carefully moving against his own. Blaine’s hand cupped his head closer, tilting it slightly before touching his hair, gliding his fingers through it.

Kurt felt like he was flying.

It was that moment where he figured, _I should be doing something_ and brought one hand up from the bed to rest on Blaine’s shoulder. Simple, not too scandalous. However, this did have his other palm unbalanced and sliding against the silky covers, pulling Kurt backwards. And as instinct, Kurt clutched on to Blaine’s shoulder, tugging him down with him.

They collapsed with their kiss breaking and Kurt letting out an embarrassing squeal, though Blaine was too busy chuckling to notice. Untangling from each other and Kurt apologizing, Blaine lifted himself up on his hands, staring down at Kurt underneath him. “You okay, klutz?”

“ _Klutz?_ ” Kurt dropped his jaw. “Excuse you, you married this klutz.”

“That is true.” An easy smile formed on Blaine’s mouth. “Is it okay if I kiss you again?”

“Like this?” _Lying here? On our bed? Our_ shared _bed, on our wedding night? Blaine, that was my first kiss…_

“I won’t--” Blaine shook his head hastily. “I won’t do anything, I promise. Nothing you’re not...comfortable with.”

 _We have all the time in the world._ Kurt licked his lips then nodded.

Now, if kissing was the only thing required, Kurt could easily fulfill that task. Once he got the hang of it, got used to the feeling of someone kissing him back, he quite enjoyed the concept. Especially when Blaine coaxed his mouth to part, and it was like a whole new world just opened up. Everything felt wonderful, as if a thousand butterflies were celebrating inside his body.

During this time, he discovered Blaine liked it when Kurt tugged at his hair, pulling him closer. He hummed and kissed Kurt harder, snaking an arm under his torso just to fist at the back of his pajama top. Kurt liked it when the hand cupping his face would run its thumb against his cheekbone, especially when their kiss slowed.

 _I’m not afraid anymore,_ Kurt realized.

Afraid of Blaine? No. Blaine had shown to be kind and caring and gentle and funny and so many things which made Kurt’s heart swell in adoration. Afraid of intimacy? With a stranger, with someone distant and foreign, yes. But not Blaine.

Blaine did break away, and when he stared down at Kurt his chest moved rapidly, his lips pink and his hair tousled. Kurt wanted to tell him he looked both adorable and sexy, but Blaine spoke first with a breathless, “I’m going to try something. Don’t freak out.”

Kurt remained as still as a statue as Blaine pecked his lips once, then the corner of his mouth, then his cheek. He trailed kisses down to his jaw and then neck, and Kurt gasped.

It was like a hundred sensations electrified him at once. His toes curled and he simply just broke out in the _biggest_ smile, his eyes closing as he brought a hand to Blaine’s curls, winding his fingers there as Blaine kissed and kissed his skin, staying at one spot occasionally and kissing harder.

But Blaine continued, finding new spots that made Kurt squirm and breathe heavier. Then, he skimmed his mouth up to Kurt’s earlobe and exhaled hotly into his ear before taking the lobe between his teeth, sucking.

Kurt was a goner. His own brain forgot how to function, only to repeatedly say the words--mentally or aloud, he wasn’t sure-- _BlaineBlaineBlaineBlaine_. Over and over like an anthem. He _grasped_ on to Blaine’s hair, his other hand curling around Blaine’s bicep and squeezing. His stomach flipped and his clothes felt too hot. Instinctively, he lifted his body up, pressing it against his husband’s.

Kurt opened his eyes, breath hitching. _Oh_ , indeed.

Blaine detached, panting against Kurt’s ear for a few moments before bringing his head up, his eyebrows drawn upwards apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“No! No, it’s fine,” Kurt reassured, gently smoothing Blaine’s curls and lowering his body as close to the mattress as physically possible. The polite thing to do, anyway. _Oh, my god. I gave my husband an erection._

“I got carried away and--”

“Hey, I liked it.”

“--it was feeling so good and...wait, you did?”

Kurt bit his lip shyly. “Mhmm.”

Blaine looked amazed. But with the option still in the air, and Kurt’s own dick becoming interested, he idly twirled a curl around his index finger, drawing out the breathless silence before hesitantly asking, “Do you...want to? Do... _that_.”

Blaine’s mouth formed in an ‘O’ shape, stunned for a moment before hastily jumping to a stuttering mess of, “Do I--well, I--only if _you_ , Kurt. Because if you just feel... _forced_ to. Trust me, I won’t force you to--do anything. I--do _you_ want to? Because I-I--”

“Blaine,” Kurt interrupted, smiling softly. “I _do_ want to.”

He nodded. “Okay.” His mouth parted but eyes stayed locked on Kurt. “Okay. Yeah. Of course. Oh my god.” Blaine cleared his throat, a goofy, lopsided smile growing on his face. “Whoa...alright. How would you like to do this?”

Another question where Kurt’s mind temporarily went blank. He just experienced his first kiss, his first _passionate_ kiss, mind you. How on earth did he know what he wanted his first time having sex? What if he said the wrong thing?

“Um.” He pressed his mouth inward, unsure how to explain this. “Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“You were my first kiss,” he blurted.

As if surprised with this information, Blaine blinked and said, “Really?”

Heat crept up his face and Kurt groaned, closing his eyes and covering them with a hand. “ _Yes_. I’m eighteen and I had never been kissed before today. _And--_ ” He unveiled his eyes, gaping at Blaine, “I have no clue when it comes to sex.”

“So...you don’t know how you want to do this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kurt exhaled, relieved Blaine understood.

“Hey, look at us. Communicating about our problems,” Blaine grinned down at him. “We’ve got married life in the bag.”

Kurt snorted and rolled his eyes, too pleased to reply.

“Alright. _I’ve_ got an idea.” Blaine shuffled lower, fitting his body against Kurt’s, therefore pressing his hips down and making Kurt’s mouth fall open. Smiling proudly, Blaine dropped his voice to a whisper, asking Kurt.

Kurt felt his mouth go dry, but he said yes.

The discarding of pajamas was more nerve wracking than Kurt anticipated. While Blaine shucked off his top with ease, Kurt fumbled with his buttons, too anxious under the gaze of an audience to aim for sexy. It was until Blaine covered his trembling hands with his own and said, “Allow me.”

Shirts were off and on the floor, and pants were next. This time, Blaine struggled with his ankles getting caught in the hem. Kurt giggled at him, which only resulted in Blaine sticking his tongue out.

Lastly, Kurt hooked his thumbs under the waistband on his underwear, silently telling his adrenaline-induced heartbeat to _shut up already._ But Blaine’s hands were there again, and he said, “Hold on,” before capturing Kurt’s lips and toppling them backwards once more.

Kissing with only underwear on. That was exciting, especially to Kurt. New and unexplored territory, like running his hands down Blaine’s smooth and firm chest down to his narrow hips. Over his bare shoulders and arms, feeling the muscle flex under his fingers as they moved to hold Kurt.

And Kurt’s body was cataloged as well. Hands roamed down his sides and over his ribs, stopping at a peaked nipple and teasing it lightly. Kurt inhaled sharply against Blaine’s mouth, and he only grinned in reply, continuing to wander around Kurt’s warm and shivering skin.

Soon enough Kurt’s hand boldly crept over Blaine’s black briefs, and he tore away from the kiss to ask, “Can I touch you?”

Blaine whined brokenly. “ _Oh my god yes_.”

Tentatively, Kurt’s fingers found the hard shape of Blaine, palming him through the fabric. He was long and hard, straining. Blaine twitched his hips and ducked his head, panting harshly. Kurt couldn’t help but feel proud, knowing it was _him_ making his husband so undone.

Blaine’s pelvis bucked again, and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut before saying, “Kurt--I...I need to…”

“Uh.” Kurt glanced to the nightstand. “Did they bring us...supplies, or something?”

Shuffling over, Blaine opened the drawer and brought out an unopened bottle. He hurried back over Kurt, bracing himself on his free hand. If anything, Blaine looked as nervous as Kurt felt when he asked, “You’re sure?”

Kurt slowly nodded, no longer having nerves of dread but nerves of excitement. “Absolutely.”

They averted their eyes as they stripped of their final layer. Kurt found himself keeping his knees together, too embarrassed for some reason. He hesitantly brought his eyes up at Blaine, and when he did he couldn’t stop staring.

Blaine’s chuckling brought him back, and he was soon met with his husband’s smile pressed against his own, easing him backwards onto the bed again.

“You’re beautiful,” Blaine whispered to him, his smile fading while his eyes shone with honesty.

Kurt brushed their noses. “Look who’s talking.”

Blaine just grinned and kissed him again.

When the click of the lube cap opening sounded off, Kurt froze, but Blaine petted his hair and shushed him. “If anything doesn’t feel good or hurts, you tell me, okay?”

Nodding, Kurt cautiously parted his knees, and Blaine sat back between them while coating his fingers with the shiny substance. His hand disappeared between Kurt, and a cold sensation pressed against his hole.

Kurt braced himself, but Blaine told him to breathe and relax, and Kurt tried to. He sucked in air and blew it back out, only to whimper when the digit slipped inside him, past his tight rim.

“Everything okay?” Blaine asked, continuing to brush Kurt’s hair soothingly.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Kurt breathed out, because _wow_ , it really was.

Strange, yes. Allowing himself to trust his husband, someone he hadn’t met before today, was absolutely exhilarating. But Blaine wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore. With every stroke and caress, he’d proven himself trustworthy. Kurt never realized how much he appreciated someone just to ask him if he’s okay in a world where you’ve been constantly told what’s happening is best.

Two slick fingers buried inside him, and Kurt adjusted quickly, taking in the slight stretch and how hot he felt down there. His cock throbbed, leaking at the tip, overstimulated with the new sensations. And to think, they were just _preparing_ for the actual act itself.

Kurt bit back a cry when three of Blaine’s long fingers made way in, and Blaine stopped to have him adjust. It burned, in a way Kurt didn’t know if it was right or wrong. Blaine kissed his mouth, confirming his comfort again before moving, stretching him open.

“Okay?” Blaine asked, and Kurt knew what he really meant. _Are you ready?_

He’s not afraid. There’s too much adrenaline and arousal to be afraid. He cupped the back of Blaine’s neck and pulled him down for a deep kiss, almost to reassure himself before exhaling, “Yes.”

Blaine’s fingers slid out, leaving him empty and aching to be filled again. After applying lube on his jutting cock, Blaine tossed the bottle to the side, parting Kurt’s legs even farther to situate himself between them, hovering over him with one hand and lining himself up with the other.

Kurt’s heart didn’t hammer loud in his ears or pound in his chest. It beat steadily, if not quicker than normal with anticipation. He steeled himself, grabbing on to Blaine’s bicep once more as some sort of anchor.

“Relax,” said Blaine, and he waited until Kurt did before pushing in.

It didn’t hurt, but the pressure was blunt and Kurt could feel it _everywhere_. From his knees to his chest to the tips of his toes. He breathed harder, jaw slack and eyes locked on Blaine, whose eyebrows were down in concentration and lips parted in awe.

When Blaine’s fully seated, he smiled down at Kurt. “Everything good?”

And Kurt took it all in--the way he felt stuffed and his cock throbbed and his skin felt on fire. He broke into giggles, because he’s genuinely happy how everything felt so wonderful. “Yes, yes I’m good.”

Blaine’s grin broadened, and Kurt could have never imagined this. All his fantasizes about having sex with his Match were slow and romantic, with longing touches and lustful gazes. Of course, he could have never dreamed of seeing what was right in front of him. A handsome boy with a bright smile, staring at him like he personally brought the stars out at night.

Right then, all the lights they left on cut to black, leaving the room dark save for a night light sticking out of the wall. The blue-ish hue had faint illumination, highlighting corners of Blaine’s face. After the initial surprise, Kurt and Blaine glanced at each other before bursting out in laughter.

“We forgot about curfew,” Kurt said. “Oops.”

“Oops,” Blaine repeated, shifting his hips and bringing Kurt back to the situation at hand.

One of Blaine’s hands stayed flat near Kurt’s head, the other beside Kurt’s torso, bracing him as he gradually began to move, dragging his cock in and out, causing Kurt to gape and shiver.

“You feel amazing,” Blaine choked out, pelvis stuttering a bit as he picked the pace up, changing angles. “Oh my god, Kurt.”

“You can--faster,” Kurt whispered, his fingers digging into Blaine’s arms. “Move faster. Please.”

Blaine obliged, his thrusts almost lifting Kurt off the bed. Kurt dropped his head to the pillow, rolling his eyes back and moaning. The stretch, the burn, everything. It was incredible, overwhelming.

Suddenly, his neck received kisses again. Wet ones with Blaine groaning against the skin. Kurt felt a hand snake between their bodies, and a first wrapped around his deprived length. Hissing, Kurt arched off the mattress, nails finding their way to scrape against Blaine’s scalp.

He wasn’t going to last much longer.

Which should be embarrassing, how close he already was, but Kurt didn’t care. Not with how Blaine grinded faster and faster, hitting a spot inside Kurt which caused sparks of pleasure to jolt through his veins. The intimacy of someone holding him every so gently while fucking him deeply was enough to bring Kurt over the edge.

“ _Blaine_ ,” he sobbed.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Blaine said, jerking his cock faster, twisting over the head.

The coil of heat unraveled and Kurt let out a strangled cry, his come spurting over his belly and Blaine’s hand. The pleasure rushed from his toes to his chest, making him tense and clench around Blaine.

His husband wasn’t far behind. With Kurt just starting to come down, Blaine rocked into him faster, if not more wild. His rhythm before stammered, and his forehead wrinkled as his jaw went slack. “Fuck, Kurt--I’m gonna--” He groaned low and stuttered before burying his face in the crook of Kurt’s neck, his cock pulsing deep.

Warmth spilled inside him, Kurt could feel it. Though, he was too dazed from his orgasm to do anything but gasp, stroking Blaine’s hair as he finished. Blaine’s arms gave out and he slumped on top of Kurt. They laid there in the dark once their panting turned to just breathing.

The room became silent and peaceful. Like the earth after a lightning storm.

Meanwhile, Kurt’s brain stopped whirling enough to process everything. Not only did he get married today, but he also had his first kiss, then lost his virginity to someone he never expected to adore. And maybe, he thought while feeling Blaine soften inside him, that’s how it’s meant to be. Maybe he and Blaine will have their own love story.

His heart fluttered. Oh, and to think, this was just the beginning. Tomorrow he’ll still get to know Blaine, and the day after that, and the day after that. The realization excited him, having him grin against Blaine’s hair.

Blaine brought his head up, the limited lighting showing his sated smile. “Wow.”

“Wow,” Kurt echoed.

“That was…” He huffed out a laugh, shrugging bashfully. Adorably. “Oh my god.”

“Good?” Kurt asked.

“ _Incredible_.” And Blaine pecked his lips before lifting his thighs apart to ease himself out. Kurt winced, feeling sticky and sore and suddenly empty without Blaine.

“Was it good for you?” Blaine asked him after they managed to clean up and pull the thick and silky covers over themselves. His voice sounded unsure, almost hesitant, as if Kurt would say no.

When has it ever been ‘no’ with Blaine? Kurt sighed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. With all that energy from supper now used, he felt as if he could melt right into their cloud-like mattress. Instead, he scooted nearer to Blaine, inviting him to wrap his arm around Kurt’s torso, holding him close.

“I loved it,” he said, seeing Blaine’s eyes shine against the night light’s illumination. “You’re amazing.”

Blaine lifted a corner of his mouth. “Look who’s talking,” he replied softly.

* * *

 He didn’t wake up in his old home.

No, this journey hadn’t been a dream. These walls weren’t cracking or moldy, but freshly painted a warm light brown color, the window shining muted morning sun through cotton-white curtains. His bed wasn’t creaking or bore a thin mattress and a worn blanket, but the exactly opposite--dozens of plush pillows, impossibly soft mattress, and a duvet so comfortable it wrapped his body like a hug.

But the person sleeping soundly next to him had Blaine believing this was too perfect to be true.

When authorities from the Matching Department came to his home in Third District, explaining the situation on how his Match was from First District, Blaine could hardly believe his fate. He figured whoever he was destined to marry would be stuck up, snobbish, a stereotypical Prissy. Someone who would take one look at Blaine and see him on the same level as garbage.

But Kurt...was nothing Blaine could have imagined. The moment he walked into the Department’s office yesterday, humiliated by the fact he had to be guarded, he saw how Kurt wasn’t looking at him like scum. No, Kurt had been in awe, as if Blaine’s very existence was a beacon of hope.

And he was beautiful, there was no question. Blaine looked at him down, where he was curled like a cat, his cheek pressed into the pillow while he faced Blaine. Steady puffs of air left his parted pink mouth, stray brown locks fell onto his forehead.

He was like an angel, and Blaine dared to reach over and brush a strand away. Angled cheekbones and pretty blue eyes. Long legs and flawless pale skin. Blaine didn’t even know what to say when they first met. He was too afraid of messing this up.

That’s the last thing he wanted. Kurt, who was so nervous and hesitant, trusted Blaine to kiss him, to see him vulnerable, to be with him in the most intimate way. Blaine never wanted to hurt Kurt, to cause him distress. With everyone telling him his whole life he was destined for failure and misery, it made him hopeful to hear Kurt call him amazing.

His husband stirred, nuzzling the pillow as his muscles stretched. He blinked open his eyes, noting where he was before looking up at Blaine. “Oh.” Kurt smiled before yawning. “Hi.”

“Good morning,” Blaine greeted cheerfully. “How are you feeling?” His hand found way to Kurt’s hipbone, rubbing his thumb there gently.

“Kind of sore,” Kurt said, shrugging a shoulder. “But still good.”

“Good.” He kissed his forehead, tenderly nudging Kurt onto his back in order to hover over him, then kissed his mouth, ignoring the slight tang of morning breath.

Sighing against his lips, Kurt’s fingers lazily tangled in his hair, which probably looked like a bird’s nest, but Blaine didn’t care. He craved for Kurt’s touch, Kurt’s lips, Kurt’s everything. Never before did he think of becoming so addicted to a particular person. And he had been physical with other boys before.

But Blaine didn’t have to worry about that life anymore.

Kurt made a small whimper against his mouth, but broke away before saying, “I’m so hungry.”

Right on cue, Kurt’s stomach growled, and they both began laughing.

Downstairs, dressed in their pajamas tossed to the floor the night before, Blaine made his way to the front door to gather their breakfast containers while Kurt headed to the living room. The morning sun brightened the interior in a warm glow, and Blaine discovered another package along with their containers. A small grey box, addressed to, “Mr. and Mr. Anderson-Hummel.”

“Blaine?” Kurt called from the living room. “Can you come in here quick?”

Blaine walked over, still examining the box. “Hey, I think these are our wedding rings!” he said.

However, when he looked up at his husband, he was not thrilled with this news. Instead, Kurt stood stiff by a desk near the wall, a computer lit with a violently red message.

“Did you send in your vital signs last night?” Kurt asked shakily.

Blaine frowned. “No.”

Kurt snapped his head at him. “ _Why?!_ ”

He shrugged. There wasn’t really a good explanation other than, _I didn’t feel like it_. He never felt comfortable sending them at his old home, for the idea of someone analyzing every aspect of his health made his skin crawl. Why did they need to know?

Kurt sputtered at him. “Blaine! This message says if you don’t send it in,” he checked the screen, “the next two hours, Officers will come and...investigate…”

“So?” Blaine asked. What would they do, pin and down and force a blood sample out of him? In the middle of First District?

He gaped at him. “ _Blaine!_ ”

“What?”

“Please?” Kurt pleaded, coming over to him and actually looking _scared_. His eyes huge and his face too pale.  “I just--I don’t want you to get in trouble and--”

“Okay, okay.” Blaine quickly jumped into care mode, carefully giving the mail over to Kurt. “I’m sorry. I’ll do it now, okay?”

This wasn’t Third District anymore, he had to remember. Kurt grew up in a completely different universe than him, where the rules were simple: obey the law, and life is great. Disobey, and you’ll end up like a Low Life. Or worse.

Blaine had already experienced the latter. Half his family had been given the ‘or worse.’ Now, he’d have to be careful. Stay in line, prick his finger, let the government keep a closer eye on him.

He sighed, clicking ‘confirm’ and watching his personal information be sent away. But behind him, he could hear Kurt opening something, and letting out a quiet gasp. “Oh, they’re so pretty!”

His sinking heart made a small leap. Perhaps he’ll learn to accommodate to this new universe, for the sake of being married to the most amazing man in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just think, this is basically part 1 of the honeymoon! ;D anywho, I hope you're enjoying it so far! <3


	3. Chapter 3

They continued learning about each other, of course, during the remaining hours of their honeymoon.

Breakfast included a whole-wheat cereal with orange juice for Kurt. Blaine had a microwavable omelet and apple juice. They ate in their unexplored dining room, making small talk on how they slept and how delicious their food tasted.

Boldly, Kurt’s free hand drifted onto the table top, flexing like it had an itch. He drummed his fingers on the polished wood, unsure how to say it aloud. Thankfully, Blaine took the hint and slipped his fingers through Kurt’s, holding tight as they finished the last of their food. Even with everything they shared last night, Kurt blushed. Such a simple yet affectionate gesture.

Not to mention, he could feel Blaine’s wedding band against his skin.

Matching silver rings, both on their left hand. They slipped them on right before breakfast, and Kurt couldn’t stop thinking about. The new weight, the cool metal, how it fit perfectly, and looked just as lovely on his husband as well.

Kurt got ready for the day first, washing his face and brushing his teeth in their bathroom, using the toilet and fixing his hair. At one point while he was applying hairspray, a loud knock came from the door.

“Honey, are you almost _done_ yet?”

Kurt frowned. Oh, yes, couples had to learn to live around each other’s differences.

Later came new arguments. Such as, “Blaine, you can’t leave your shirts folded like that, they’ll wrinkle!” or “Kurt, would it kill you to put the wet washcloth in the sink?” Small, meaningless disputes. Which occasionally ended with someone bitterly giving in and awkward tension settled between them both.

It wasn’t until late afternoon rolled around when Kurt found himself sitting alone in the living room, reading the instructions on the hologram manual on how to set up a video message. The alone time was nice, especially after he snapped at Blaine to stop being so clingy.

He felt terrible, really. But after their petty disagreements--then Blaine finding him organizing clothing in their closet, thinking that was the perfect time to walk up behind him and surprise him with a hug Kurt did _not_ want at the time--he had to get away. The government classified him as introverted, so perhaps that was it. He needed his space.

But he still felt awful.

The manual wasn’t making any sense and he clicked it off, blowing out a frustrated breath. It was his honeymoon, for god’s sake. His friends and classmates were probably all lovey-dovey with their spouses right now. For him, they were in separate rooms.

_How could I’ve messed everything up already?_

Then, a voice said, “You need help with that?”

Kurt turned, seeing his husband standing at the edge of the carpet. He wore his everyday clothes--a plain tee and jeans. His curls were tamed and a hesitant smile played on his lips.

He looked down at his hands, where the manual was loosely held. Sighing, he put it aside. “It’s fine. I’ll do it later.”

Watching out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine walked over, awkwardly sitting on the couch with Kurt but far enough away to still give him space. “Listen, I’m sorry I--”

“No, no. I’m the one who snapped. I’m sorry--”

“I shouldn’t have thought a hug would make everything better.” Blaine smiled close-mouthed but fully this time.

“It’s okay,” Kurt told him. “I’ve been classified as introverted. So I probably just needed to be alone to regain--”

“Did the government classify you as that?” Blaine cut in.

Kurt blinked, the question unexpected. “Yes…”

“And you agree?”

He honestly was lost for words for a moment. “Well...yes--”

“Okay. Good.”

“What? Why would they be wrong?”

“I’m just saying,” Blaine defended, purposely softening his voice when Kurt’s went sharp. “You know yourself better than anyone. I’m just saying that.”

Kurt twisted his mouth. Another thing they seemed to be on different pages of. He couldn’t understand why Blaine would question their government like that, or why he easily ignored basic instructions from them.

Perhaps things worked differently in Third District. Though, Kurt wasn’t sure _why_ it would...

Blaine offered his hand, waiting for Kurt to take it, then laced their fingers. “So, we’re okay?”

Kurt couldn’t help but smile, finally at ease. “Yes, I believe so.”

“So I can kiss you?”

How very gentleman-like of him. Always asking permission. Though Kurt found it endearing, he hoped in the future they would reach a point where Blaine could ask without words, and he would answer just as so. “Yes, you may.”

Kissing still flipped his belly and stuttered his heart. It was new and exciting, not to mention Blaine was a _great_ kisser. His hands framed either side of Kurt’s face as they kissed, and he carefully caught Kurt’s bottom lip between his own, sucking it in, having Kurt’s toes curl.

Back to the honeymoon they were meant to have, so it appeared.

“Mm,” Blaine hummed, pulling away with dark eyes. “Can I go down on you?”

Puzzled but intrigued, Kurt gave him a confused face as Blaine slid off the couch and onto the floor, kneeling between Kurt’s legs and giving him a delighted smirk. Kurt swallowed, watching as Blaine’s hands smoothed up his calves and thighs, spreading him farther apart until his palm rested at his crotch and slowly felt him through the fabric.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kurt gasped, red blooming across his cheeks. _Go down on you_. Did that really mean…?

Blaine checked for a confirming nod before unzipping Kurt’s jeans, scooting them down inch by inch until they bunched around his ankles. Grabbing the waistband of his briefs, Blaine made sure Kurt nodded again before pulling them down as well, just far enough his half-hard cock sprung free.

First, Blaine wrapped his hand around it, stroking firmly, enough to fill it up fully. Then, while Kurt bit back whines, he breathed on the sensitive head, taking a beat before sinking his mouth over. Kurt had to stifle his cry, for the sensation was too unreal.

Wet and hot as Blaine sucked him, up and down, pressing his tongue to the shaft and humming around it. Kurt didn’t know what to do other than squeeze his eyes shut and heave his chest. The urgency to let go was building too fast between his legs, he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Blaine--” he tried to warn, his voice coming out horse. He tried tugging at Blaine’s styled hair, which only resulted in Blaine to bob faster, like his life depended on it. Sweat prickled across Kurt’s skin, and he cried his husband’s name as he spilled down his throat.

Perhaps it was the proper thing to do or maybe Blaine just liked it, but he swallowed Kur diligently, licking him clean and tucking him back in. Kurt could only gape at him, trying to catch his breath, trying to figure out if this man was even real.

Blaine, who was so confident with intimacy and wasn’t hesitant to kiss Kurt first. Whose whiskey-golden eyes grew dark with such graceful desire Kurt just couldn’t fathom how he was here, in Kurt’s life, married to him, no less. Honestly, it almost surprised him to wake up and realize this man wasn’t a dream.

But Blaine wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning up to kiss Kurt’s cheek. “Make-up sex. I hear it’s a successful concept.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and flushed red. “Oh, shut up.”

“Shall we take this to the bedroom?” he suggested with a glint in his eye.

They made it there, yes, but ended up talking again between kisses. Kurt laid on the same side of the bed as he did last night, Blaine mirroring him. Mostly unimportant ramblings, such as how they have to work tomorrow, how excited Kurt was for his assigned job, then him asking Blaine what his job would be after he managed to pry his husband off his neck again.

“Oh. Um. They put me in the Artifacts Department.” He shrugged, looking off to the side. “Which is alright.”

Kurt frowned, somewhat confused with his tone. “What, you aren’t excited?”

“Well...I dunno. It’s a better job than anyone who lived in Third District could imagine.”

“But...you aren’t excited.” He braced himself up on his elbows. “How come? If they assigned you there, then it must be the perfect fit. Just think of all the relics you’ll be able to study--”

“Don’t you ever wonder if it’s really the perfect fit?” Blaine asked.

Kurt stopped, taken aback. “What?”

“You know,” he went on, “it seems like they put higher class people in the better jobs. Then assign crummy jobs for anyone in Third District.”

“Well, then they must be the best ones to do those jobs.”

“Really? Not _one person_ in First or Second District are perfect for a janitor or house cleaner? Not a single person from Third District is best fit to run computers or manage offices?”

“Yes, obviously. Look at you.”

Blaine scoffed. “Yeah. Look at me. All thanks to my new address.”

Kurt pursed his mouth at him, his stomach twisting into knots. “Can we stop talking about this, please?”

“Why?”

“Blaine...they could…”

“What? Hear us?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kurt hissed through gritted teeth, glancing back and forth. It had been drilled in their heads since they were young to _not_ speak out against their government and its decisions. Unspeakable things happened to those who disagreed with their choices. And Blaine, of all people, should know those consequences…

His husband sighed, almost frustrated, but said, “Alright.” He put on a smile, offering an arm out for Kurt to shuffle in and snuggle near his side. “Let’s talk about something else. I don’t think I ever saw you at school in the Capitol. Why’s that, too cool for us Low Lives?”

He meant to play it as a joke, but Kurt nuzzled his chest and answered, “If I would’ve met you, I’d want to be your friend.”

And he meant it too.

Blaine’s arm wrapped around Kurt squeezed tighter before a pair of lips kissed the top of his head, and Kurt smiled into Blaine’s shirt. It was then he realized intimacy didn’t always mean intercourse.

Of course, they did trade a few more kisses before dinner time rolled around. Before then, however, Kurt discovered some important information, such as the reaction Blaine got when he kissed the hinge of his jaw. And Blaine found some secrets as well, like how Kurt’s extremely ticklish under his armpits, and if he _ever_ tickled him again Kurt promised to kick him.

Aware that their honeymoon was coming to an end as the sun sank below the horizon, the couple ate their dinner swiftly. Again, food which caused adrenaline rather than fatigue. Kurt became suspicious for a moment, but just as quickly brushed it off. It probably wasn’t too worrisome.

After showers were taken, vital signs were sent, and pajamas weren’t even bothered to be put on, Blaine tipped Kurt back against the mattress, kissing him hotly as they situated back on the unkempt bed. Kurt hurried backwards to the pillows as Blaine’s hands roamed all over him.

“You are _so_ gorgeous,” Blaine breathed, skimming his palms down Kurt’s sides with his mouth kissing down his bare chest. “ _God_.”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt exhaled, feeling almost ridiculous with how quickly they hurried right to the main event. Naked and happy, Kurt’s breath hitched as his husband’s lips attached around one of his nipples, sucking and rippling pleasure all through Kurt’s body.

Truth be told, he did enjoy the moments where they weren’t distracted by arousal, where they just stayed comfortably side-by-side, getting to know one another and talking about whatnot. But it was no lie that Kurt loved these moments as well. Like Blaine was hungry for him, starved for his touch and the ability to touch him back. And he was _so_ good at it, making Kurt feel spectacular and cherished.

It couldn’t help but make Kurt wonder if his Match had ever done this before.

Blaine detached with a faint pop, crawling up to Kurt and claiming his lips before sliding an arm under his torso and flipping them over, letting Kurt be on top while Blaine kept kissing him, his hand sneaking down to grab his ass.

“ _Oh_.” said Kurt in surprise.

“Is that a good _oh_?” Blaine asked with a tiny smirk, kneading the sensitive flesh.

Kurt gasped. “Oh, yeah.”

“Good,” Blaine said, his voice dropping a few notches as he continued his task, kissing Kurt’s lax mouth. “Because you have an _amazing_ ass.”

“Blaine?” Kurt asked suddenly, and immediately afterwards wanted to slap himself. Horrible timing to blurt out his thoughts. “Have you done this before?”

Blaine’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Done what?”

“Like…” His face and neck flushed with embarrassment, and Kurt chewed his lip and glanced away, scolding himself silently. Especially since Blaine’s hands dropped and he looked confused, declaring Kurt an official mood-killer. “Intimate stuff? Before...you met me.”

The room went silent. So quiet Kurt thought his own heart stopped beating. Blaine took a few seconds before telling him, “Yes. I have.”

Kurt wetted his dry throat, forcing himself to remain calm as he looked down at his husband. “Such as?”

“Well,” Blaine said, his hands coming back up to rest on Kurt’s arms, brushing against the grain of the hairs. “You weren’t my first kiss, like I was yours.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” There came the sheepish Blaine Kurt saw the night before, the one with pink blush and a shy smile. “And I know it’s like, bad luck here to do anything beyond that before you’re married…”

“It’s so you can save yourself for your Match only,” Kurt said, not clipped or upset, just stating a fact he had been taught since he was young. Sure, he’d developed infatuations on boys he’d seen at school or in the neighborhood, and his friends had too, but no one acted on them. Kissing wasn’t uncommon, but anything else was just unheard of.

Blaine nodded. “I know. But in Third District….let’s just say it’s common knowledge to not act like a Prissy.”

Kurt frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, like with the kissing. My first kiss was when I was thirteen, and I was pressured into doing it. Basically the boy said I was being a Prissy to not kiss him, so I did. Because that’s the last thing you wanted to be out there--a stuck up, egotistical snob.”

“So, like me?”

“No,” Blaine answered immediately, his fingers gripping Kurt’s arm surely. “Never like you.”

Although that didn’t shake the overbearing cloud of the other issue at hand. “So...you act sexually as a way to differentiate yourself from higher class citizens?” asked Kurt.

“That and other things. Like, we swear more out there, if you didn’t know. I know it’s considered undignified up here, but people curse _a lot_ in Third District. Also, more violence. Funny enough, Officers don’t really care as long as we don’t kill each other. In contrast to up here, where you so much as bump into someone on the sidewalk and Officers will be at your door within the hour. I guess Third District is too far away from them to bother checking in on us.

“But yes, to answer your question, we do act sexually for that reason. I mean, most of us figure we’re just gonna marry someone who’s grown up in that same environment, so it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Interesting, but also disheartening. “So, you’ve had....sex before?” Kurt asked, somewhat softly.

Blaine nodded. “Quite a few times, actually.”

Which made sense, honestly. How sure Blaine was in his actions and knew exactly what to do and where to put what. Really, Kurt figured, he should be lucky to be married to someone with so much knowledge, but his heart couldn’t help but sink a bit. He could only say, “Oh.”

“But,” Blaine quickly added, his lips forming into a smile Kurt had come to be familiar with, “never with someone I cared so deeply about. All those times before I felt like I _had_ to, not necessarily because I _wanted_ to. Like I had to prove myself or something. But with you...it never felt that way.”

“Never?” Kurt asked, his sunken heart now soaring with hope again.

Blaine shook his head. “Never ever.”

Kurt could feel the cool silver of Blaine’s ring on his arm, and his muscles relaxed. Blaine’s past was a complex puzzle, something Kurt hoped to understand all of over time. Even if it was confusing or baffling, he had to come to acceptance. Because Blaine was his husband, and this was for real.

“Weeellll,” Kurt said, drawing his voice out playfully, the cloud of tension finally disappearing. “If you would like, we could still end our honeymoon with a bang, you know. If you wanted.”

Blaine’s grin widened and his golden eyes shone. “I would _love_ to.”

Less unfamiliar anxieties this time, more of Kurt eagerly but carefully exploring Blaine in return. He let his palms catch over Blaine’s hard nipples, let them wander down to the trail of hair below his belly button. He kissed him bravely, trying to suck his bottom lip like Blaine did before, but ended up biting it slightly instead. With Blaine’s response, it seemed it didn’t mind at all.

When Blaine whispered a new idea to him, Kurt’s ears burned, but he nodded.

The preparation took less time, given how Kurt already accommodated with the stretch of his husband’s fingers. The only change now was Kurt straddling his knees on either side of Blaine’s torso, lifting his hips in the air as Blaine stroked in and out of him, rubbing his thigh with the rhythm.

Finally, when Kurt felt ready, Blaine slicked lube onto his flushed cock before locking his right hand on Kurt’s left, letting him squeeze tight as Kurt lined himself up, breathing slowly as he sank down.

His fingers dug into Blaine’s hand. “Oh-- _god_ \--”

“It’s okay. You’re doing great.”

Kurt looked over at him, aware his eyes were wide with astonishment. Being on top while stuffed full with his husband was exhilarating, everything both familiar and brand new. Kurt had the power to shift his hips and bring jolts of pleasure to himself, but that didn’t erase the fact he was on full display, and Blaine marveled at his every move.

Still gripping tight on his hand, Kurt glanced away. “I bet I look ridiculous.”

“No,” Blaine insisted, shifting upwards against the pillows, closer to Kurt. “You look _sexy_.” As if to prove his point, he twitched his pelvis, causing Kurt to drop his jaw and whimper.

His Match thought he was sexy.

Confidence spurred Kurt’s veins, and he took focus in lifting up and down, feeling the tight drag and hearing himself moan. He moved a little faster, changing angles now and then, watching his husband’s face twist in arousal or go soft in awe. And Kurt couldn’t help but preen, knowing it was all because of him.

Thankfully, they timed this before curfew, giving Kurt a clear view on Blaine’s expressions. His skin started to flush pink and sweat formed as his temples the further they went, and he hastily grabbed for Kurt to lean down and kiss him, all messy and off-center.

“ _God_ , you’re amazing,” was all Blaine managed to breathe out.

Kurt whined and hurried to touch his neglected dick, but Blaine was there first, jerking so rapidly Kurt couldn’t prepare himself. The boil of heat rushed too fast to his groin, and he moved on his husband’s length almost unconsciously, bouncing just to try and reach the edge sooner.

“ _Blaine--Blaine--I’m--_ ” He groaned, deep and undone, burying himself fully with Blaine before letting go. His arms trembled as Blaine’s belly became soaked.

It took him a moment to blink out of the daze and realize _Blaine_ was coming as well--tensing and spilling inside Kurt. And Kurt could only stare down at him in amazement, watching his Match come down, catch his breath.

“Whoa,” Kurt exhaled once the room stopped spinning.

Blaine laughed, his limbs slumping. He helped Kurt climb off and joined him in cleaning them up. Proud of himself, Kurt felt hadn’t noticed he’d been beaming until Blaine looked over at him and gave a curious smile.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, scooting over to Kurt’s pillow and lying beside him, over top their messy covers. Oh, the poor housemaids who’ll come in tomorrow…

Kurt hummed, nodding. “I just...I can’t believe how lucky I am. To be Matched with you.”

Though smile faltering at the word ‘Matched,’ Blaine still stared at him with drooping eyelids and warm eyes. “I feel the same.”

Their lips managed to find each other again, lazy and slow. Kurt longed to progress further, start a round two perhaps, but Blaine nudged him over on his side and draped an arm around him from behind, keeping them connected chest to back.

And right on cue, the lights cut to black, and Kurt sighed. His body eventually grew less restless, and he snuggled back into Blaine’s arms, taking in his bare skin and soft breathing on the back of his neck.

“I’m going to miss you tomorrow,” Kurt admitted to the dark, playing with the corner of his pillow. “When reality kicks back in, when we’re at work all day and I won’t see you.”

He could almost see Blaine smile before saying, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll still have each other all night.” And he tightened his embrace just to prove his point.

“Hm,” Kurt hummed thoughtfully. “‘ _Sweetheart_.’”

“Problem?”

“No...I like it.”

“Good.” A damp kiss was planted on his shoulder. “Because I like you, Kurt.”

With that, they drifted off together, enclosed in a content and peaceful world all of their own.


	4. Chapter 4

“Welcome, newbies,” rang the clear and sharp voice of Cassandra July, her eyes narrowed and sweeping across the group of new Archive employees, making them shrink in their chairs just by her gaze.

“If you thought this career would be a breeze,” Ms. July continued, pacing in front of the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood, “that you’d just read some fun things and be done with them, you’re surely mistaken. The government isn’t _stupid_. You’re all here because your work ethic and test scores prove you’re worthy of this high and valued positioned. So, make sure you continue to prove you are.”

Kurt restrained himself from gulping. Day one of his job had so far been a terror-speech by none other than the head of their Department. Ms. July was a force of nature--blonde hair tight in a bun, pure white pant suit, and consistent glares. She took her position seriously and wasn’t up for anyone who thought otherwise.

“In the future, hopefully,” she went on, hands on her hips, “you will work analyzing documents and books from the time before Utopia. But, for now, your job as newbies is to sort. That’s right. Prepare to alphabetize and numericalize, kiddos.”

Less than twenty people had been chosen as new recruits for the Archives Department. Each wore their navy blue uniform, sitting at their own desk in a large office. A stack of jumbled papers and files were given to each--Kurt’s own pile taller than his head.

“Wow, actual _paper_ copies?” said the voice to Kurt’s left, the closest employee sitting next to him. “I thought everything was computerized by now.”

Rachel Berry turned out to be the only recognizable face working with him. Sure, others Kurt had gone to school with, but he never remembered any of their names. Of course Rachel would be assigned the same Department as him. She sat with straight shoulders and a stiff jaw during Ms. July’s welcoming speech, determined to be the best as always.

Which was alright, Kurt supposed. He could use a chatterbox like Rachel to distract him during these hours of sorting. “I’m sure that’s where these files are going after we categorize them,” he told her.

“Hmph,” was all she said, flipping through her papers. “My husband Finn got assigned to the Mechanics Department. Actually, I think he’s working with your dad, Kurt! Oh, he’s so excited. He’ll be working hands-on every day, which is good for him, I think.”

Kurt smiled politely before turning back to his files. He didn’t pay much attention to what each paper was about, rather than the dates at the top, choosing to numericalize. Some taken place recently, others that have been years, even decades before. Curious, Kurt read the front of the file. _Court Confessions._

“Anyway,” Rachel continued. “How was your honeymoon? Mine was so romantic. Finn was always so sweet when he got to know each other the month before, and our honeymoon proved no different.”

“It was nice,” Kurt said, a bit distracted. “Uhm...I dunno, Blaine and I sort of had to get to know each other _on_ our wedding night.”

“Oh.” Rachel made a sympathetic noise. “Yeah, I heard about that. _So_ sorry.”

Kurt blinked, turned to her, and furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” Rachel flourished a hand. “After the whole Matching Ceremony thing, people became worried that you _didn’t_ have a Match. Then word spread that you _did_ , but he was from Third District.” She grimaced. “That’s almost worse than having no Match at all.”

Kurt’s mouth dropped, the conversations of his other coworkers becoming white noise. “I’ll have you know Blaine is a _perfect_ Match. He’s very caring and compassionate. And like Ms. July said, the government's not _stupid_.”

“Oh, I never said they were!” Rachel placed a hand on her chest, appalled. “I’m just _saying_ that you need to be careful.”

Forgetting about his task at the moment, Kurt stared her down. “And why’s that, Rachel?”

She looked over at him, giving him face that said, _Isn’t it obvious?_ “Come on, Kurt. A Third District marrying someone from First District? He’ll take advantage of you. Even though he’s your perfect Match, which I’m not denying, but still…” She shrugged. “You know how Low Lives are.”

Fury rose in Kurt’s chest. Rachel Berry, who had so much only conversed with him during school when it was necessary for her, somehow now having the audacity to call his husband a Low Life. A phrase that used to be meaningless in Kurt’s life now held weight, because his Match _certainly_ wasn’t one. She told Kurt to be careful, like telling a child to be cautious going down the slide. Kurt was an adult. He _was_ careful.

Scowling, Kurt turned back to his untouched files, ordering them in silence.

Lunchtime came, and their specific containers were brought in the office’s cafeteria, and Rachel still rattled on and on to him like he wasn’t obviously angry at her. Afterwards he left to find the restroom and soon discovered the building for the Archives Department was more complicated than he thought. He seemed to go down the same hallway three times before declaring himself lost.

“Oh, my--Kurt Hummel?”

He spun around, seeing a white-suited lady next to a water cooler, holding a plastic cup as her mouth slowly formed into a smile.

Genuinely surprised, Kurt began walking towards her. “Ms. Wright?”

The head of the Matching Department laughed. “Dear, please, call me Isabelle. I heard you were working in the Archives! That’s wonderful!”

He felt himself beam bashfully, a bit flattered someone of such high authority was complimenting him, even remembered his name. “Thank you.”

“I remember when your mother worked here,” Isabelle said. “Oh, she was a lovely person. And a wonderful leader! Probably the best head this Department's ever seen!”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “But, Ms. July…”

Isabelle waved her hand. “Dear, don’t worry, I won’t get in trouble for stating an opinion on a fellow coworker. Cassie and I...know our differences.” She rolled her eyes, groaning. “Which makes meetings a bit uncomfortable.”

He failed to hide a laugh. “I can only imagine.”

“Oh, don’t tell her I said that,” she teased, winking at him. It was a nice change, Kurt thought, to have someone so powerful treat him on the same level instead of looking down on him. He would gladly take Isabelle over Rachel or Ms. July any day.  

Then her smile softened, and she looked at Kurt like she was reminiscing. “I’m so sorry about your mother,” she said. “Elizabeth was a friend of mine, I didn’t know if you knew that. She always stayed so positive and cheerful.” Isabelle tapped her cup idly. “Her death really shook us all.”

Throat going tight, Kurt nodded curtly. “Thank you.” But truthfully, he didn’t know a thing about their friendship. Then again, from what he could remember his mother never talked much about details at work.

Isabelle inhaled deeply, shaking her head and putting on a smile. “Well, I have to go to that meeting now.” She squeezed Kurt’s arm. “I know you’ll do marvelous here, Kurt. Just like she did.”

Back at in the office, Kurt filed through the papers left on his desk, his actions on autopilot, his mind too caught up in his previous conversation with Isabelle Wright.

Would his mother be happy with his Match? Would she want her son to marry someone from Third District? Would she had been like his father and Rachel, telling him to be careful?

Elizabeth was kind, Kurt remembered that. Coppery hair and bright blue eyes. She used to take him to the playground on the weekends, pushing him on the swings until it felt like his feet could touch the clouds. He remembered her singing lullabies for him to fall asleep. At school, he would proudly tell his classmates, “My mommy wears a white suit! She’s a head of a Department!”

No, she wasn’t a judgmental person. Even though, like Rachel, she lived her whole life in First District but was never a ‘Prissy.’ She was always kind, always friendly. She never judged without reason. She told Kurt when he started school to treat others with respect, no matter what they looked like. No matter where they came from.

Kurt sighed, flipping through his documents. Elizabeth wouldn’t have hated Blaine. She would know how much this Match meant to Kurt, and welcomed him with opened arms.

At least with that thought, he finished work with a lighter note, sorting the files faster one by one.

* * *

After the ideal six-hour work day (plus one hour for lunch), Kurt opened the door to his home, relaxing once the vanilla aroma greeted him. He toed off his shoes and unbuttoned his jacket, calling out, “Blaine?”

No voice came in return. Curious, Kurt continued undoing his work clothes, making his way upstairs. He called his husband’s name again, checking in the bathroom and bedroom, yet still had no response.

Changing into everyday clothes, Kurt couldn’t help but worry. People were never just _late_ coming home from work. There was no reason to be. It’s not like Blaine was _going_ anywhere after his shift. He tried to reason with himself, that Blaine caught a later monorail or was tied up chatting with coworkers. No big deal, no need to fret.

However, after another hour rolled by, Kurt couldn’t distract himself longer with unpacking the last of his moving boxes. He picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialed the Officers.

“ _The Officers Department. How may we help you?_ ” asked a smooth female voice.

“Hello, my name’s Kurt Anderson-Hummel,” Kurt said, attempting to aim towards calm and not panic. “My husband’s shift ended at the Artifacts Department about an hour ago and he still isn’t home.”

“ _What is your husband’s name?_ ”

“Blaine Anderson-Hummel. I don’t know if he’s...lost or, or hurt--”

“ _I will check with the head of his Department. One moment, please.”_

She left Kurt with a faint musical tone as he waited, pressing the phone to his ear. In the meantime as his heart thumped anxiously in his chest, he stared at the front door, preparing himself for the moment when it would open, showing Blaine and washing all his worries away--

“ _Blaine Anderson-Hummel is not done with his shift yet_ ,” said the voice.

Kurt paused, her response not adding up. “Wh--yes, he is. He started work at nine and it lasted until four--”

“ _Do not worry, Mr. Anderson-Hummel. Your husband will arrive home when his shift is finished. If there are any complications, you will be contacted immediately, given you are his number one emergency contact…_ ”

He barely processed the rest of what she said, but thanked her before hanging up. The house felt eerily silent afterwards, a heavy weight of nothing.

It just didn’t make sense.

Another hour slowly ticked by, Kurt’s nerves only increasing by the minute. Eventually a knock came from the front door. Kurt opened it hurriedly, only to discover it was their dinner containers.

They provided them a spaghetti supper tonight, including garlic bread and sparkling flavored water. Kurt didn’t feel hungry. He left the food on the kitchen island as he sat on the living room couch, staring out the large window showing the front yard, unable to loosen his grip on the phone.

No imaginable explanation could bring him comfort.

Why on earth would they need him longer than the necessary shift? It was only his first day, working in the _Artifacts_ Department no less. The average work day was a certain amount of time _for a reason_. Did Blaine actually do something wrong? Did he get in trouble?

After several minutes, a shape on the sidewalk could been seen coming towards the house. Kurt perked up, catching sight of dark hair on the figure, then noticing the body shape, then the way he walked…

The moment Blaine walked in Kurt was there, throwing his arms around him. “Oh, thank god. I was so worried.” He squeezed tight, his heart soaring in relief. _Oh, thank god, thank god..._

His husband’s arm slowly made way around Kurt’s back. Halfheartedly, like he hadn’t missed Kurt at all.

Kurt pulled back, studying his face. First, it should be noted, Blaine wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were cast downwards, showing less shine than normal. Almost as if walls of steel had built around them. Dark circles were prominent under them, lines formed around his mouth, his eyebrows were furrowed. He looked tired and worn. Furious.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked, stepping away a little, confused by this sudden change of atmosphere. “Why were you home late--?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Blaine muttered, shutting the door harshly behind him and striding past Kurt, stiffly popping open the buttons of his blue jacket. “Given an average citizen is only supposed to work six hours a day, right? To ‘keep the perfect work ethic’ so they say.”

“Blaine…” Kurt cautiously said, coming up to where Blaine stopped in the kitchen, over their stainless steel sink. His husband twisted the faucet on and splashed water in his face, not taking notice of wetting his work clothes.

“It’s just--” Blaine said, wiping his eyes clean. “They hate me. I know they do.”

Kurt blinked, stunned by such an accusation. “Your Department? Oh, Blaine, no...no, it was only your first day--”

“They had me stay there for _two extra hours, Kurt_ ,” Blaine snapped. “Because apparently I ‘hadn’t done my work correctly,’ so I needed to make up time in order for it to ‘be perfect.’ It’s not like I couldn’t come in tomorrow and do that first thing. No, I had to ‘get it perfect’ right then!” He pointed a finger at Kurt, his eyebrows dangerously low. “And you want to know what my job working at the renowned Artifacts Departments was?”

Kurt didn’t even need to open his mouth for Blaine to continue, “ _Clean_. While other new recruits learned the basics of tools to analyze artifacts, I had to _clean_. Take out garbage and sweep floors.” He stopped, then sighed, running a hand over his styled hair. “I could be wearing a green suit for all they care.”

Stomach dropping, Kurt didn’t know what to say. The colors of work clothes determine your rank of authority. A simple way for classification. White suits were obviously head of Departments or people who worked specifically for the Mayor’s office, such as spokesperson Mr. Figgins. Officers wore white armored uniforms to symbolize the same thing. Navy blue suits were assigned to almost everyone else, the average workers.

But green suits, or more specifically a forest green button-up and baggy pants, were given to...mostly Third District workers. The janitors, the house cleaners, the garbage men. The jobs no one from Second or First District ever had to worry about being assigned to.

Still, Blaine wasn’t any of those. Kurt stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Blaine.” _This isn’t fair_ , is what he couldn’t say out loud, not with them always monitoring, always listening.

Blaine sniffed, staring off to the side before finally giving in and embracing Kurt, his arms around his torso and holding firmly as his nose buried into his shoulder. And Kurt held him back just as tight, his thumb soothing in circles on his spine.

A different kind of silence settled in the house. A steadier one, a more complete kind of quiet.

“At least you’re home now,” Kurt whispered, trying to be optimistic.

Blaine broke into a squeaky-laugh, his hands smoothing up between Kurt’s shoulder blades. “Back in the arms of my gorgeous husband.”

“I know the feeling,” he teased, and they both ended up laughing.

Eventually, Blaine retracted, his entire body less tense and more at ease. “I’m sorry I made you worry, I--”

“No, it wasn’t your fault.” But then Kurt realized, if it wasn’t Blaine’s, then it was his Department’s. More specifically, the people who decided his shift would be longer than normal. Oh, no. If they heard that, Kurt would be in _so_ much trouble--

“God, I’m exhausted,” said Blaine, rubbing the heel of his hand on his eye.

“Let’s eat dinner then have an early bedtime, yeah?”

“‘M not hungry,” Blaine said with a shrug.

Kurt pursed his lips. “Blaine, you have to eat--”

“I’m _not_ hungry.”

“You _have_ to eat!”

“I’m not going to eat if I’m not hungry!”

No, no, they shouldn't be fighting again. Kurt gave up snapping and tried softly, “Blaine, please?”

_They’ll know. They’ll know from the containers we’ll have to recycle. They’ll know form the vital signs. Please, I don’t want you to get in trouble. I don’t want_ anyone _to get in trouble._

Sighing, Blaine listened to Kurt’s silent plea. “Fine. I will.”

“Thank you,” was all Kurt could say, feeling small.

His husband took notice, and placed his hands on Kurt’s forearms before pecking him on the lips. “Hey, I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just...it’s been a bad day.” He gave him a little, crooked smile. “But I did miss you.”

Kurt lifted a corner of his mouth. “I missed you, too. At work, all Rachel Berry would talk about was her own Match and--”

“Darling, that sounds like a conversation we can have _during_ dinner, yes?”

And so, they did. Kurt set out plates and silverware on the dining table, finding some electric candles to place in the center, giving it a warmer mood. He and Blaine ate their spaghetti while talking about their day. Well, mostly Kurt’s day. Which Blaine didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m going to have to one-up you now,” Blaine remarked at the candles. “With the romantic gestures.”

“How so?”

“Well, that would take away the surprise, now wouldn’t it?” Blaine grinned.

Nighttime came around, and they went through their routine as before. Except, once they shuffled into bed, no acts of intimacy emerged. Blaine kissed Kurt good night, called him ‘darling’ again and Kurt teased him for it.

For first time since they got married they manually shut off their bedroom lights before curfew. Kurt couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Yes, he admittedly hoped to be all over Blaine once they’d arrive home from work. However, with how Blaine’s day went, Kurt doubted he’d be in the mood. And Kurt would never force him to do anything he didn’t want.

He did, however, turn over and made out the shape of Blaine’s outline through the limited lighting. “Blaine?” he whispered to his husband’s back. “Is it okay if I...cuddle with you?”

Thankfully, after a beat of silence, Blaine let out a small chuckle. “You don’t need to ask, because the answer will always be yes.”

Kurt bit back a smile and shuffled forward, draping an arm around Blaine’s slim hips and hugging him close from behind. In return, Blaine relaxed against him and found Kurt’s hand through the sea of covers, lacing their fingers together over his chest.

Perhaps Kurt couldn't fix everything, but he could do this. Comfort, cherish, let Blaine know he was there for him. To make sure he didn’t fall asleep with a heavy heart.

Why, what else were husbands for, anyway?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh, late update I'M SO SORRY. I'm still trying to get used to school schedule vs writing time so bear with me, lovelies! But thank you to all who have read and left feedback so far. Here's an extra hug for you <3

Work didn’t exactly get better, but he never told Kurt.

Blaine _should_ be grateful. By all laws of fate, he should be overjoyed he had this opportunity to actually have a decent career, unlike what his neighbors most likely ended up with.

Though, that’s the last thing Blaine wanted to feel-- _thankful_ towards the system that diminished his existence in the first place.

When he was younger, he never questioned it. He thought that was just how the world worked. Some kids grew up with cleaner clothes and nicer homes. He grew up with rags and broken-down shacks. When his father would complain about Utopia, defying the government, Blaine never understood. Why be mad at the perfect system?

Although now, grown up and finally opening his eyes, Blaine could see his father wasn’t so far off.

Again, he’d never admit this to Kurt.

Kurt--the only part of this new life his is _truly_ grateful for. His husband who doesn’t know, doesn’t understand Blaine’s suspicion. Who lived a privileged and happy life, who had loving parents and a good home. Who never had a reason to defy the government.

And Blaine knew deep, _deep_ down that it was thanks to the government’s Matching he and Kurt were together. And they have the power to take that away.

So, he kept his mouth shut.

But that didn’t mean he stayed silent.

“I’m home!” Blaine called inside the house, shutting the front door behind him. From working at the Artifacts Department for a full week now, at least authorities there sent him home on time from now on.

Kurt came down the stairs, changed from his own work clothes and dressed in comfortable everyday clothing. “Hey, Mercedes wants to know if we can ask permission to go over for dinner tonight,” he said, approaching Blaine as he undid his blue suit jacket. “She’s very nice, I think you’ll like her.”

“Sure,” Blaine said, bouncing a little on the soles of his feet. “But, first I gotta show you something.”

Kurt paused, intrigued. However, this ‘something’ wasn’t just anything. A rather proud grin grew on Blaine as he dug inside his pocket. The Artifacts Department was rich with relics from ages before, whether they be behind glass cases or on shelves waiting to be studied. Having to clean most of the day, Blaine had plenty of time to examine them on his own.

He watched his husband’s forehead wrinkle at the small item he revealed. “A remote?” Kurt asked.

Blaine shook his head, preening just a bit. “It’s not from our time, I’ll give you that.”

Kurt snapped his eyes at him. “It’s an artifact?”

“Yep!” Blaine placed it on the island’s glossy countertop, pressing a button to light up the little flat screen. He could feel Kurt staring at him, gawking and speechless, but he was too thrilled to worry.

“I--you-- _Blaine_ ,” he managed, gesturing his hands. “You just took...an _artifact_ home--”

“Sweetheart, calm down,” Blaine said, tapping the correct symbols on the screen as he remembered. “No one’s going to notice it’s gone.”

“You took it _without permission?_ ” Kurt hissed, glancing back and forth, like he was expecting Officers to come popping out from behind their couch and through their windows, guns and all.

Blaine wasn’t concerned. They would have stopped him before he stepped foot on the monorail if it was such a big deal.

With its volume turned up, Blaine tapped a title on the screen, then turned back to Kurt with the biggest smile. He waited as a tinny melody emerged from the item’s little speakers, and watched as Kurt stopped mid-way in scolding him to actually listen.

“What--?” he began to whisper, then a louder voice came from the artifact, making him jump.

“It’s a song, Kurt!” Blaine told him, nodding along to the upbeat music. “I dunno what the device is called that it’s on. _I-Am-Pod_ or something.”

“Is it...one of the approved songs--oh!” He was caught off guard when Blaine came forward, grabbing his hands so they could move to the music.

“ _I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet sky…_ ” the song sang in a cheerful tune. “ _I could hurtful, I could be purple, I could be anything you like…_ ”

“What on earth are you--?” But Kurt was too busy laughing, pink blooming across his cheeks. And Blaine could only grin more, holding Kurt’s hands as he twisted and shimmied their bodies along with the music.

“Dance with me!” Blaine said.

“Dance?” This time Kurt stopped fully, his face incredulous. “Blaine, I don’t know how to--”

“You’re doing great so far,” he told him, adding a wink just because he could. Bringing Kurt close, he slid a hand around to his lower back, fitting their linked hands more surely and thinking, _this is what they did in those historical paintings, right?_

Kurt’s mouth was still parted, eyes wide like he absolutely couldn’t believe Blaine. In response, Blaine sort of swayed their bodies side-to-side, joining Kurt in laughing because while it felt ridiculous, it was too much fun to stop.

Besides, being this close to Kurt wasn’t too bad either. Up close to his smiling dimples and feeling his giggles vibrating against his own chest. Needless to say, he made everything worth it.

“I’ve never danced before,” Kurt said out of breath once the song finished. “Did we do it right?”

Blaine shrugged a shoulder, unable to reply for another song was beginning, with a completely different beat and new voice. He smiled at Kurt, holding him close and ready to dance again in the middle of their kitchen.

But Kurt tried to take a step back, his expression wary at the artifact. “Blaine, you shouldn’t have taken that. It’s not yours, it’s the government's. They could...you could get in _really_ big trouble--”

“I’m not going to,” Blaine reassured him, desperate to get Kurt smiling again instead of worrying over their society’s rules. “I found it in the back room, where hundreds of others just like it were. I’ll take it back first thing tomorrow, tell them it was a misunderstanding. Alright?”

Though seeming unconvinced, Kurt sighed, the silence allowing the words of the new song to actually be heard. It was slower, with a sweet voice serenading a love ballad. They, though, were still swaying with it. Steadier, simpler. Until Kurt’s hand was on Blaine’s shoulder, and his chin rested overtop that. As close as two people could be while dancing, almost like an embrace.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Kurt whispered, soft even near Blaine’s ear. “Blaine--I don’t want you taken away from me, I--”

“I know, I know,” Blaine immediately reassured, though he couldn’t help but think, _Kurt wants me as much as I want him. He loves--_

He wasn’t sure on that.

‘Love’ was too powerful of a word. Blaine had always dreamt of it, with reading all the great romances and listening to songs about falling in one. Even with his father’s arguments with his mother (“ _A system cannot create love, Pam! You cannot form love based on numbers and statistics!_ ”) he couldn’t help but hope. Hope someone would fall in love with him and he would fall just as hard back.

But was this love? Who decided it? You can’t automatically fall in love with someone you were assigned to marry, right?

Blaine nudged his nose against his husband’s shoulder as they continued to sway with the music, the singer’s words filling the kitchen air. “ _Like a river flows, surely to the sea...darling so it goes...some things, are meant to be…_ ”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his arm around Kurt’s waist hugging him closer. Sorry he scared Kurt, sorry he kept making him worry. Sorry he’s probably the last person Kurt wanted to be Matched with, sorry this prejudiced system kept screwing them both over.

He could feel Kurt’s chest lift against his, and then his voice said with a smile, “It is a wonderful artifact.” And he hummed the last verse, a little off but no less lovely.

Relieved, Blaine relaxed, basking in the song and Kurt’s heavenly humming. Perhaps love would hit him like a brick later on, but for now, he could just enjoy this moment of tranquility with his husband.

* * *

“He is _so_ cute,” Mercedes whispered to him, nudging his arm. “You hit the jackpot, Kurt.”

Kurt ducked his head, smiling. Dinner with the Evans’ went so smoothly, Kurt was surprised he wasn’t imagining it all.

Blaine had been an absolute charmer, sweeping Mercedes and her husband Sam right off their feet. He complimented Mercedes on the home decorating and started conversation with Sam about his job at the Officer’s Department. Even now after dinner, as Mercedes and Kurt resided in the living room, Blaine offered to clean up the kitchen, and Sam joined in, chatting with Blaine like they had been friends for years.

“He’s great,” Kurt said. “I mean, it’s only been a week but I’m _really_ happy with him…”

“Oh, hon, I’m so glad.” Mercedes squeezed his hand before turning back to the coffee table, where a thick binder was opened, showing rows upon rows of different strips of fabric varying in colors and textures. Kurt couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Sam’s been sweet,” Mercedes told him, flipping a page, quiet enough the boys in the kitchen couldn’t eavesdrop. “He makes me laugh and he respects me. But--” She hesitated, then sighed, waving the rest of the sentence away.

Kurt, however, tore his eyes away from the book and wrinkled his forehead. “But what?”

“Oh, nothing.” Obviously it was _something_ , with the uncertainty in her eyes. “It’s just…I don’t know. He’s my perfect Match and my husband and I love him and all but...I wish it wasn’t so _rushed_.”

The last part ended in a very quiet, wary whisper, and Mercedes glanced nervously at her window before busying herself with the fabrics. Remaining frozen, Kurt continued staring at her, unsure what to say.

“What do you mean?” he asked, forgetting to be as quiet as her, forgetting the consequences of questioning the system.

She looked uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly on the couch. Her hair curled around her shoulders, and she wore a bright red jacket tonight along with colorful jewelry. A stunning human being, Kurt always admired her for that, but he had never seen her this _scared_ , like she was afraid to even breathe.

“I don’t know,” she whispered again. “Like, the honeymoon. Which was fine, and he was very gentle and understanding but...I didn’t feel ready. How awful is that? I didn’t feel ready with my own Match. And maybe we weren’t...connected or something? Oh, Kurt, I don’t know.”

Seeing her worrying her lip between her teeth, Kurt quickly jumped in to comfort, shaking his head and rubbing her arm. “No, no, Mercedes...it wasn’t your fault.”

_Then whose fault was it?_

“But I love him, Kurt. I really do,” she told him, her voice strong with confidence. “And, it’s getting better. He understands and like I said, he respects me. It was just, we were required to that night so we did.” She shook her head quickly, turning focus back to the fabrics. “Anyway, have you seen this fur? I didn’t even know this kind existed.”

Kurt, who was still in this state of shock, blinked out and took focus with her, as a friend would do. Still, his thoughts stayed elsewhere, mostly over the fact she was terrified to admit her feelings. He understood her nervousness about the honeymoon aspect, even though in the end he _did_ feel connected with Blaine. It’s not like if the Officers overheard her confession they would arrest her, banish her to Third District. You can’t force someone to feel a certain way about people.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. _Your perfect Match_. He decided to study the furs instead.

While a remarkable student, Mercedes did not work in any of the renowned Departments, rather at the Merchandise Department. “Well, really it’s mostly textiles,” she explained to Kurt earlier that evening. “And oh, Kurt, it’s so amazing. So many clothes and fabrics to design and distribute. It’s a dream!”

Truth be told, Kurt’s heart did stutter in his chest. Even though being assigned to such an acclaimed Department, to design clothes sounded heavenly. He loved fashion and the freedom to express himself with it. Besides, it’s how he and Mercedes became friends in the first place. So to see the opened fabrics book she needed to memorize over her coffee table honestly felt...disheartening.

_The government isn’t stupid._

A hoot of laughter came from the kitchen and both snapped their heads at the noise. Blaine must have cracked a joke, for Sam was clutching his chest and bellowing with laughter. Though in the living room, Mercedes hummed and Kurt turned to her, seeing her smile.

“Really, Kurt,” she said. “How did you get so lucky?”

And for once, that word didn’t settle well in his bones. He frowned and remained silent as she distracted herself with those perfect fabrics, hearing their husbands continuing to laugh in the kitchen, he himself feeling a million miles away from everything.

For the first time he questioned how a label like ‘lucky’ could even be.

* * *

Rain poured heavily onto the streets, washing the sidewalks and drenching the grass. The clouds overhead were gloomy grey, rolling thick across the sky while the windows of homes in First District were all friendly yellow squares.

Blaine, who didn’t even think to bring an umbrella to work that day, shut the door to his house behind him, bringing a barrier between the unforgiving rain and the calm of his home. He stayed there at the entryway with one hand on the doorknob, catching his breath and keeping his head down.

Today was not a good day.

His work clothes were drenched, dripping in puddles on their nice welcome mat. It turned the navy blue of his uniform to a mess of almost-black splotches. His toes were cold under his stiff shoes and his hair was falling out of its once-secure gel. Still, he took a moment to breathe, to try and collect himself and think of a plan before his husband came and--

“Blaine, you’re home!”

Wincing, Blaine remained frozen, refusing to act on instinct and turn to greet Kurt as well. He heard footsteps approach him, and then a gasp of, “Oh, god, you’re soaked!”

_Don’t look up, don’t look up…_

“Yeah, it’s pouring pretty bad,” Blaine said, trying to sound casual as he turned away from the door, his eyes down at the floor and seeing the bottom of Kurt’s red skinny jeans and his shiny shoes. The plan was to bypass him and hurry to the bathroom, where he could hopefully call out some excuse of a warm shower, but Kurt caught his arm.

“Here, let me help.” Fingers edged to his jacket. “You must be freezing.”

Blaine pursed his lips, which stung, and did his best to turn in any possible direction where Kurt couldn’t see his face. “I’m fine, I just--”

“Wait.”

 _Shit_.

Those same fingers released his jacket and carefully touched Blaine’s cheek. “What’s that?”

Blaine jerked away, staring the opposite direction of where Kurt stood. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Blaine, are you _hurt?_ ”

As if a knife had lodged itself into Blaine’s heart, the utter concern in his words cut deep. Kurt wasn’t an idiot, and Blaine couldn’t skate around this any longer. His husband's hand fitted around his jaw, so tender and careful, guiding his head to turn around and Blaine was helpless to the touch. Take the consequences, so it seemed.

His eyes flickered up just as Kurt gasped, his entire face clear with confusion and shock. “Wh--?” Mouth parted and at a loss for words, Kurt’s fingertips floated up and over Blaine’s cheekbone, under his left eye and down to his cut lip, careful not to touch any of the horrible purple bruises.

“What happened?” whispered Kurt.

Blaine inhaled through his nose, embarrassed and exhausted, the memories slowly bubbling anger in his chest. “It happened at work, it’s no big deal.”

Though with the hurt in Kurt’s eyes and the fact Blaine wasn’t telling the entire truth didn’t end this conversation. So Blaine sighed, dropping his gaze. “It’s just--I told you, Kurt. They hate me.”

With his eyes never leaving Blaine’s wounds, Kurt shut his mouth, determination entering his expression. “C’mon, I’ll take care of you.”

Considering ‘take care of you’ didn’t really have a clear explanation, Blaine stared at him with bewilderment as Kurt lead him up the stairs, first telling him to take off his shoes as to not leave tracks.

He left Blaine in their bedroom, instructing him to remove his wet clothes before going out in the hall. Outside their large window, rain continued falling harshly, streaking down the glass. Once down to his underwear, Blaine shut the curtains just as Kurt came back in, carrying a few items.

“Under the covers, c’mon,” Kurt told him, throwing their bedsheets back. For the first time today, Blaine actually cracked a smile, a warm wave of relief flooding him as he followed orders.

“Better?” Kurt asked, perched on the edge of the mattress next to Blaine, gathering the washcloths and medicine he had brought in. Blaine nodded, sniffing. At least he had stopped shivering.

For a second, Kurt snapped out of his mother hen mode and paused in the process of dabbing the medicine on Blaine’s bruises. He shook his head and let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

“This is perfect,” Blaine replied, fighting back a wince when the cloth touched his skin.

“I’ve never…” said Kurt, chewing his lip in concentration. “I’m just doing what my parents did. By the way, a pair of your pajamas is in the dryer.”

“You’re _amazing_.”

“And you scared me half to death,” Kurt pointed out, his mouth twisting crooked. He lowered his eyes to meet Blaine’s. “What really happened?”

It wasn’t a happy tale, not one that would leave Kurt more at ease. Blaine rolled his head on the pillow, looking off at their closed-curtain window, where rain could still be heard beating against it. “To be fair,” he eventually said, “I did the right thing.”

Kurt frowned. “What right thing?”

“At work, they...some other employees of the Artifacts Department, they...they found out. About me taking home an artifact.”

Before Kurt could jump in, Blaine continued, pushing himself up to sit and ignoring the cool exposure of air on his bare chest. “Listen, that wasn’t why they...the reason for all of this is because they cornered me for because it was _me_. Three guys, one of them named Hunter. I don’t know, he’s like an asshole--sorry, I mean, a really nasty guy. Anyway, they found me doing my work, cleaning and whatnot, and just started surrounding me. Telling me to go back to Third District, calling me Low Life scum and a thief and such…”

“Oh, Blaine.”

“Hey, that’s not even the best part,” Blaine tried to joke. “Um. I dunno, one thing lead to another and...uh, well, I called them brainwashed monkeys, and I could see one of Hunter’s henchmen advance at me so I took the first swing.”

“You--”

“Hey, you should see the other guys.” He attempted a smirk but ended up hurting his face even more. “Don’t worry, an Officer soon came and split us up. The blame was all on me, of course. I was the only one written up.”

Kurt chewed his lower lip, glancing away.

“It’s fine, Kurt, really,” he said, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s over now, I’m okay.”

“Blaine, don’t you get it?” Kurt asked, the telltale fear in his eyes when he worried over a very specific and overbearing thing. “You were lucky. They could have charged you with much worse and you could have been arrested or--”

“But I wasn’t!”

“But who’s to say you won’t be next time?” Kurt snapped. After a beat, he took a breath and sighing. He lifted the cloth up to dab at Blaine’s bruise again.

“It scares me,” he said quietly. “The thought of losing you.”

The downpour was steadier, more so white noise to the two of them. Blaine’s chest was heavy with a crushing guilt, reading the honesty and hearing the fear in his husband’s voice. How he wished he could speak freely, say everything he believed deep down.

_Kurt, can’t you see this system is wrong? Can’t you see that this entire world is brainwashed, not just those idiots at work?_

_Don’t you see that all of this is horrible and flawed and people need to do something about it?_

_I did do something and all you can see is the consequences and not the results?_

_Maybe my father was right._

_Maybe we should have a choice._

_Kurt, can’t you understand I’d rather die believing in that than live the rest of my life being a part of this?_

But this wasn’t Kurt’s fault. To Kurt, everything was perfect and right. He had lived his whole life benefiting from the government, not seeing it through Blaine’s eyes. He couldn’t possibly be aware of the suffering, of the injustice.

Those guys purposely found Blaine because of his status. He didn’t tell Kurt--how could he?--of the slurs, the back-handed insults. _Traitor’s bastard._ His father wasn’t a hero, but he fought for what he believed in, even if it put him behind bars in the end. Blaine would be damned if he didn’t fight as well.

But there was no denying the thought of losing Kurt scared the hell out of Blaine, too. So much he’d kiss the Mayor’s feet and pledge his allegiance to Utopia for as long as he lived just to continue being with Kurt.

But...that can’t just be it. There _had_ to be another way, another reality than this. Perhaps the fight today finally had him see everything crystal clear instead of hovering in a state of uncertainty.

The pain of his wounds numbed, and he relaxed his shoulders before looking at Kurt, the only clear thing in his life. Who knows what his dad preached was real or not. Who knows anything. All Blaine was certain of was this man who cared for him and he cared for in return so much, he didn’t even know if he was prepared for it all.

Blaine tilted his head into Kurt’s touch, and said, “I love you.”

Evident shock covered Kurt’s face, and his eyes widened at Blaine’s words. Although, a smile began growing on his lips, and he said in return, “I love you too.”

Nothing explosive, just a sure and strong declaration. While a content warmth took over Blaine, having him smile as he watched his beautiful blushing husband, he too was sure on one thing.

No matter what, his husband will never have to suffer because of his actions.


	6. Chapter 6

“ _I love you_ ” opened up a whole new world for them.

The words held weight, like a promise, a sense of certainty when uttered. Kurt had to admit when Blaine first said it to him, it felt as if the earth knocked him off his feet. He was shocked, unprepared, but did have the mindset to respond.

Now, it was easy as breathing.

They exchanged “ _I love you’_ s” in the morning, as they kissed each other awake. They said it as they got ready for the day and as they left for work. They greeted each other with it in the evening and when the other looked ravishing or just plain cute. They whispered it frequently in bed, all breathless and tangled in each other's limbs.

It was life changing yet the simplest thing on the planet.

And one evening, just as the lights cut out and curfew settled over the bedroom, Kurt daringly asked Blaine if he had told anyone he loved them before.

His husband shook his head and kissed him. “Only you.”

Kurt’s heart couldn’t help but flutter happily.

All those great stories and famous songs described falling in love, but they were never close to this. The assurance and safety Blaine made him feel, the absolute adoration when Blaine looked at him couldn’t be described in mere text.

For the first time since their marriage, Kurt actually felt like his feet were planted firmly on the ground. Who knew three little words could carry so much strength, so much power when said to one another, either ringing clear or in hushed vows.

Kurt loved Blaine, and Blaine loved Kurt.

The simple fact sent him giggling like a schoolboy, too happy to know how to deal with. And the best part was knowing his husband was just as happy too.

* * *

If there was anything to describe Kurt’s work ethic, it would be diligent. While others fumbled left and right to stay on top of their duties, Kurt finished his with determined grace. If a job was to be done, he would be right there staring it down and mastering the matter in no time.

Which is probably why he was currently being considered on a promotion.

“While I’m very happy for you, Kurt,” said Rachel one day during lunch, munching on her given salad across from him, “I do think it’s a bit too early for them to make a decision. I mean, honestly, we’ve only been working here for two months.”

Kurt sighed and continued eating his own meal, not taking Rachel’s words to heart. Yes, after his time here it seemed Rachel turned out to be a friend. Her opinion on Blaine and ‘Low Lives’ slowly changed once Kurt began sharing stories, and it was pretty obvious she was just as swooned by Blaine’s actions as he was (“A walk in the morning just to see the sunrise together? Oh, my god that is _so_ romantic!”).

Subtly wasn’t one of her strong points, and it was clear she wasn’t too thrilled with Kurt’s possibility of a promotion and not her. Especially since she had gone to extreme lengths to impress Ms. July, such as requesting to stay late and put in more hours or skipping breaks given throughout the day to continue working.

“Well, we don’t have to worry about that anytime soon, I guess,” she said, tossing her brown hair over a shoulder before changing the subject, putting on an excited smile. “What are you and Blaine doing for your anniversary?”

While Kurt knew all about Rachel’s plans for her and Finn’s anniversary (mostly because the whole week she wouldn’t shut up about it), he honestly had no idea. When asking his husband one night, Blaine simply hummed and answered, “It’s a surprise!” So, was Kurt supposed to plan anything? Should he buy Blaine a gift, or just wait to see what his husband had in store?

Still, it was hard to believe. _Two months_ of being married. Two entire months of working at the Archives. Two months into Kurt’s entire new life, one he adored every second of, even the hardships at times. But, as time proved, it grew better the farther they went along. Why, even Blaine seemed content with his job and stopped talking about those crazy and dangerous ideas.

It was truly something to celebrate, and Kurt smiled to himself at the notion. “I dunno, Blaine told me he has a surprise,” he said to her.

She gasped. “Oh, how sweet! Finn does romantic gestures too, though they aren’t as grand as Blaine’s. Oh! Like last week how he brought home this _adorable_ heart-shaped necklace…”

Back to talking all about Rachel, it appeared. Kurt munched on his sandwich and just listened.

Even with two months of creating an impeccable routine for work, Kurt couldn’t help but feel a smidge of pressure now. He typed at his computer, tasked with marking the correct documents sitting in his lap to their proper category. He felt eyes of Ms. July’s assistants watching the office’s every move, writing down notes on their holographic clipboards.

And he really wanted that promotion. The authority to access files from the Archive Department’s huge library and study the inscriptions from the world before, piecing together events and decisions from people long gone sounded way more interesting than his job currently.

Rachel tapped away at her desk to his right, entirely focused on her task at hand. Her determination was equivalent to Kurt’s, she had just as much of a chance as him. So he set his jaw and went back to work, refusing to let anything faze him.

Break time came around, and while other employees stood and stretched, perhaps excusing themselves to the restroom or to chat with one another, Rachel stayed seated and continued on as if nothing had changed. Kurt, however, was split between continuing as well or taking a quick break, perhaps stretch his legs or get some water…

Ms. July’s assistants were still watching, still writing down notes. He wanted that promotion _desperately_ …

One glass of water. He could get up, grab it and hurry back, showing he was capable of taking care of himself but also dedicated himself to his job. The perfect plan. Kurt pushed himself away from his desk and stood to exit out in the hallway where the water cooler was. Yet, on the way there another obstacle blocked his path.

He almost ran into her, poor thing balancing a cup of coffee and how many documents, squeaking when Kurt appeared in her path. “Whoops! Sorry, Mr. Anderson-Hummel!” gasped Ms. July’s secretary, eyes wide behind her square glasses.

“No, I’m sorry, Jan,” he apologized, wondering if he should make sure she wasn’t going to drop anything or hurry to get his water. The clock kept ticking, after all.

If anyone in this Department was constantly running back and forth juggling a dozen things at once, it was Jan. The secretary sadly had no breaks like everyone else did, and was often seen hurrying across offices to gather papers or people, usually pink-faced and out of breath.

Now, however, she had stopped to balance the coffee cup, then actually got a good look at Kurt. “Are you on your break right now, may I ask?” And before he could answer, she began shifting her baggage around to find a large file propped under her elbow. “Would you mind doing me a huge favor?”

He raised his eyebrows, surprised by the offer. Normally ‘newbies’ wouldn’t be trusted with a job from someone of such authority. Perhaps this was a sign.

“This file needs to be put in the basement,” she told him. “It’ll probably be studied later on, but for now--”

“I would love to,” Kurt quickly said, accepting the thick (and rather heavy) file from her. “You can count on me!”

Relief covered her face. “ _Thank you_.”

He couldn’t help but have a bounce in his step as he headed to the elevator, too proud in himself for landing this important assignment. Hopefully those assistants saw him and wrote down positive notes.

Alone in the elevator, Kurt pushed the button marked ‘BM’ and waited as he descended. During the tour of the office they were never shown the basement, for they were told they would never need to go down there. “Just a bunch of storage containers and filing cabinets,” explained their tour guide. “Nothing too special.”

Still, excitement rushed through Kurt’s veins. How many newbies got to see, were _trusted_ to see what was down here? Certainly not Rachel, who was still slaving away at her work. Oh, the bragging rights he’ll receive from this.

Eventually, the elevator came to a halt, and even before the doors opened Kurt couldn’t help but feel a sort of chilly gust seep through his navy suit. How far underground was he?

The doors parted to reveal a room much larger than any one of the offices upstairs but other than that, rather underwhelming. Lights hung low from the ceiling and didn’t do much help with illuminating the area. Rows upon rows of dusty filing cabinets lined the room, while old cardboard boxes stacked against the wall. Nothing too special indeed.

Still, the atmosphere was definitely creepy enough to have Kurt proceed with caution. He actually remembered why he was down there in the first place, and looked down at the file in his arms.

It read _Court Confessions_ and déjà vu struck him like lightning. On his first day of the job he had to categorize a similar, if not the exact file. This should be easy to put away, he considered as he walked forward through the aisles of cabinets.

He soon found the numbered cabinet which matched the front of the file and opened the drawer. Dust particles puffed into the air, and Kurt coughed before waving them away, blinking to clear his vision on what lied ahead of him.

The drawer was packed with similar files, all bulging with paper copies. Kurt filtered through them appropriately, sliding in his file near the back. Just like he thought, easy.

Except, he caught a glimpse of a shape inside his file.

Curious, he took another look, double checking to make sure it was indeed not a trick of his imagination. He carefully peeked inside, seeing the very first page had a photograph of a man with a rather angry expression, and in front of that was what seemed like a remote.

Logic sprung into Kurt’s mind like a broken leak. _Don’t touch it, don’t even think about touching it. There are probably cameras everywhere, what are you thinking--?_

Except, Kurt stupidly, stupidly wandered his gaze back up at the photo of the man, and unfortunately saw the name attached to it.

_Michael Dylan Anderson_

Kurt’s stomach dropped.

It was impossible, too much of a coincidence that he had in his possession the court file of his husband’s criminal _father_. No, no, this was a mistake. An overreaction on Kurt’s part. Surely, there were many Michael Anderson’s that had lived in Utopia. This couldn’t possibly be…

The remote-like object shifted, and more informational text could be seen next to the photograph.

_District: Born First, Banished Third_

_Family: Pamela, Wife. Cooper and Blaine, Sons._

Kurt felt like vomiting.

This man, this-- _vigilante_ was the sole reason Blaine had been treated so unfairly his whole life. It was his fault that Kurt’s Matching was almost not meant to be. It was because of _his_ actions Blaine got hurt, was discriminated--

Before fury completely overtook him, he caught another piece of text. _Federal Crime: See Tape._

Tape? Like a recording? They must mean the remotes, which, the more Kurt studied them, were holographic video devices. Teachers at school used larger ones, mostly to show educational videos.

Temptation itched at his fingers. _Cameras, Kurt. They’re watching you…_

He glanced over his shoulder, up at the lights and around the doors. No signs of glossy black cameras could be seen anywhere, which was quite unusual to be honest. But, then again, if the basement wasn’t anything special to begin with, why would it need monitoring?

Biting his lip, he turned back to the drawer. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, the adrenaline of this act too much to contain.

He grabbed the first device and held it in his palm, flicking it on.

A translucent, pixelated screen shone an inch above the device, giving off a blue-ish glow to the dim room. The recording was indeed small, just big enough to have Kurt examine what on earth was going on. It appeared to be an interrogation room, with Officers positioned at the doors, holding their guns tight. The recording aimed at the table in the center, seeing the back of a white-suit’s head and giving view of the criminal in question.

Michael Anderson sat with his hands chained to the desk. God, he _did_ look like Blaine. Taller, for one thing, with broader shoulders and a deep frown. Same dark hair, same square jaw. He wore prisoner clothing, and looked at the person across from him with disgust.

“ _Michael Dylan Anderson_ ,” read the man with the white suit, his voice tinny with the recording. “ _You are charged with vandalizing government property, speaking out lies against the government, refusing to show up to work multiple days in a row, breaking and entering, and hacking into government software to steal classified information. Do you have any corrections against these? Anything you say will be recorded.”_

A pause, and then, “ _No._ ”

Michael sounded...normal. Surprisingly. Maybe Kurt expected a snarl or growl of a voice, but instead Blaine’s father sounded like an average man.

“ _Mr. Anderson, the Mayor has charged you guilty with all of your crimes. The punishment for these--_ ”

Michael scoffed, shaking his head.

“ _Is there a problem?_ ”

“ _Is there--oh, what a loaded question. You know, I admit that most of my charges aren’t exactly saint-like, but there’s really one that just doesn’t settle well with me, now that I think about it._ ”

 _“And that is? Remember, anything you say--_ ”

“ _My opinion on the government, our oh-so-precious Mayor, shouldn’t be a charge._ ”

“ _But it is, Mr. Anderson. It’s against the law_.”

“ _Oh, really? Having an opinion is that horrible you need to restrict it?_ ”

“ _When it threatens our government, our Utopia, then yes._ ”

“ _My brain is really that dangerous? You need to keep it under lock and key?!”_

“ _Mr. Anderson--_ ”

“ _In the olden days that was one of their basic freedoms! The freedom of speech!_ ”

“ _Yes, and that soon resulted in their destruction. Shall I recruit a history professor for you?_ ”

“ _You’re a liar! It was the growing dictatorship of their government which resulted in their destruction! The people turned against one another all thanks to their ‘perfect system.’ You think yours is any better?_ ”

“ _Mr. Anderson, your arguments--_ ”

“ _I refuse to live in a world where I do not have a choice! I refuse to be monitored like a herd of cattle, just so no one dares to step out of line! I don’t deserve that life, these people don’t, my kids don’t--_ ”

“ _Mr. Anderson. You are found guilty of your crimes. Your punishment is just and fair._ ”

“ _Fair?! Nothing's fair in this hellscape. I will not stop until everyone knows of your lies, your deceit--_ ”

“ _Take him to the execution chamber_.”

Kurt audibly gasped as the holographic screen shut itself off, bringing him back to the dimness before.

The conversation echoed in his mind like a bell toll. Too much yelling, too much information at once, and then... _execution?_ They told Blaine his father was imprisoned, that he was still alive…

It didn’t make sense. The death penalty was outlawed when Utopia first formed…

His heart raced too quickly and his lungs couldn’t gulp in air fast enough. He needed to...he needed to sit down. He needed to go home and tell Blaine and--

 _No_. Oh, no, _Blaine_. After all his risky comments thrown about, his reputation, and now _this?_ How would he react? What would he do?

Kurt placed both hands in front of the drawer and pushed it shut, hearing the slam echo across the large room. He made a mistake snooping around down here. This is why they say to keep in line.

 _Like a herd of cattle_.

He swallowed harshly, head hurting too much to be thinking anything along that line. Upstairs. He needed to go upstairs and get back to work before anyone wondered what was taking so long.

He--he needed to forget this. _How_ does one forget something like this?

* * *

The front door shutting was almost like a breath of relief. Kurt sighed, leaning his back against it and faced the inside of his house, closing his eyes and giving himself a moment to breathe.

The rest of the day had gone by in a blur. He had barely noticed the assistants watching him as he continued with his regular job; frankly he couldn’t care. While his body went on autopilot, his brain stayed elsewhere. No matter how _desperately_ he wanted to ignore the glaring fact that--

“Kurt!”

His eyes shot open just as his husband could be seen happily walking towards him, smile broad. Kurt suppressed a groan, his chest aching at the sight. _I can’t tell him, I can’t tell him, I need to--_

“I missed you,” Blaine told him, swiftly leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Hard day at work?”

Realizing what Blaine must be seeing in him--leaning against the door, closing his eyes like he was exhausted from the assignments and not…Kurt cleared his throat and put on a smile, straightening his posture before, “I’m fine, really.”

“Good.” Blaine beamed again before letting his hands drift to Kurt’s waist, his eyelids lowering right as he kissed his lips, deep and lingering and Kurt’s hollow chest quickly filled with fluttering butterflies.

And for a moment, Kurt became lost in it. After relaxing, his hands found their way to the front of Blaine’s yellow sweater, his fingers holding on to the wool fabric like an anchor, a steady weight to ground him to earth, make his overactive brain melt into languid bliss.

His heart thumped steadier. Okay. He was okay, everything would be okay--

Blaine broke first, though it appeared he really didn’t want to. With his expression still showing excitement under his lustful eyes, “Change your clothes and then we’ll have dinner?”

“Dinner--?” A flicker of movement caught the corner of Kurt’s vision, and he turned to see in their living room was a blanket laying on the floor, the lights off save for a couple dozen electric candles, all placed around the room. Rose petals littered the carpet, and a gentle symphony of music could be heard through the speakers.

He wrinkled his forehead. “What’s all this?”

“To celebrate!”

“Cele--” Their anniversary. Oh, Kurt almost forgot. How awful was that, he was so caught up in his own issues he couldn’t even remember it was his own wedding anniversary?

But, he wouldn’t let Blaine see that. Instead, he laughed, flustered, and smiled wide. “It’s too much, Blaine.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Blaine said, unable to stop grinning.

Wearing a pair of his more casual jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt, Kurt joined Blaine in the decorated living room where their dinner was set up on the blanket, like a picnic. They reclined as they ate, Kurt weirdly given more food than Blaine, and they chatted about their day. Mostly directed at Blaine, by Kurt’s part.

Still, as Kurt listened to him talk and gesture his fork with the story, he couldn’t stop picturing Blaine’s father. They looked too similar, in physical appearance at least. Was it a common trait for Anderson’s to bear thick, expressive eyebrows? Was Blaine ever told he and his father both purse their lips in a pout when thinking?

Was Michael a good father, despite the fact he seemed to put the defiance against the government over his own family? Did Blaine even like him, or was he too young to even remember? The questions kept swirling around Kurt’s mind like a hurricane, along with the secret conversation he should have never heard.

“You okay?” Blaine paused in his story, his smile wavering a bit when he looked at Kurt.

Kurt shook his head and brought himself back to reality, humming and smiling. “Mhmm!” He nodded enthusiastically, putting aside his finished dinner. “Sorry, I spaced out.”

Blaine set aside his own container, sitting up to his knees and shuffling nearer to Kurt. “About good things, I hope?”

“Uh, oh yeah.” His eyes flittered around the room. “Like...how you went to all this effort just for our anniversary.”

“Well, it means a lot to me,” Blaine told him. “Being married means a lot and I’ve been, you know, dreaming of doing something special for you so,” he reached for Kurt’s hands, holding them in his own, “here we are.” He smiled, in that beautiful bright way he does.

Guilt prodded Kurt’s heart like a hammer to a nail. He squeezed Blaine’s hands back, struggling to take a breath. But he couldn’t say, he absolutely couldn’t…

The sky had darkened, the lights still off and the candles giving a yellowish glow, and Blaine’s eyes were a deep golden gaze staring right at him. His features softened in desire, and soon he was leaning in further, his head tilting before his lips captured Kurt’s.

And it was anything but chaste. Kurt was almost taken aback at first, so shocked with the raw need in how Blaine kissed him, slotting their mouths together perfectly, sending tingles over Kurt’s skin.

Clearly his husband had more plans for tonight, for his palms found way to brace himself up on either side of Kurt, easing him back on the blanket. His tongue danced along the seam of Kurt’s lips, his hands sneaking under the fabric of his shirt and smoothing against bare skin.

And Kurt...oh, he just wasn’t fully _there_. He tried to grasp onto Blaine just as fiercely, cupping the back of his neck and opening his mouth with him. This present reality was simply a target, and Kurt’s head was aimed anywhere but there.

It was all so beautiful and romantic, an evening Kurt had been dreaming of forever. But his brain...his stupid, _idiotic_ brain just couldn’t forget. The burning fact ate him up like a virus, the knowledge pulled at his thoughts like chains. He couldn’t focus completely on Blaine’s love even if he tried.

“Wait.”

Blaine parted at once, stilling his hands. The artificial candlelight flickered shadows around his wide-eyed concerned features. “What is it?”

Hesitation kept Kurt from blurting it out. His body was laying across the blanket, one knee drawn up and his elbows kept close to his chest. He could only stare up at Blaine, who hovered over him politely, not letting any part of his body besides his gentle hands touch him like before.

If Kurt says it, everything will change.

It was classified information, he wasn’t even supposed to be down there in the first place. The Officers--the _government_ \--will surely hear his confession, even before Blaine has time to react. And how will Blaine react? It won’t be like how he is now, all sedated and loving. He fought coworkers just because they called him a Low Life. What on earth would he do if he discovered the government actually _killed_ his father?

Kurt wetted his lips, eyes darting around Blaine’s face until he opened and mouth and stuttered, “I-I need to tell you something.”

Blaine’s hands retreated from Kurt’s side, bracing him up against the blanket. “Okay.”

A horrible sensation occurred in his heart, like it was being pulled a hundred different directions by needle-thin strings. Michael Anderson’s voice rang in his mind, while his punishment afterwards stood clear as well.

“Blaine…”

“Yes?”

Kurt picked at the fabric on Blaine’s shoulder.

_It scares me. The thought of losing you._

“I…” he cleared his throat, refusing to meet Blaine’s eye, “I forgot to mention that at work there’s a promotion and...I think I have a high chance of getting it.”

His husband broke out in a broad grin again, and Kurt’s lungs started to function properly again. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s amazing!” Blaine was happy, kissing his lips and unable to stop smiling. “I’m so proud of you!”

His whole life Kurt worried over making the wrong choice. Every reason in the universe told him this was the right one...minus a tiny voice in the back of his head, as persistent as a pebble in a shoe

He hummed at Blaine and smiled, shrugging a little in a bashful way he knows he does when being complimented. After all, Kurt always prided himself in acting.

“All the more reason to celebrate, yes?” Blaine asked with a lower voice, his intentions open as he brushed Kurt’s nose with his, his grin lopsided and his hands finding their way home.

And this time Kurt responded properly. His fingers wound around Blaine’s shoulders while he closed his eyes for a kiss as an answer. He allowed desire to fill his veins, feeling his heart speed up and his skin shiver with anticipation while his husband caressed him ever so.

In the meantime, that tiny voice was pushed aside, because dear god he didn’t need to hear it again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's officially after Halloween so I hope you guys had a fun and spooky time! I apologize for the lateness of the chapters...sadly, art school doesn't give much free time to write :( but it is against my morals to abandon a story so do not worry! This will finish in due time! Until then, I thank every single one of you for reading and reviewing and leaving kudos and whatnot. You're the best out there <3

Life went on in harmony, at least for a while.

They continued on, whether it be work or at home. It was almost like a set schedule for each day, and Blaine couldn’t shake how _odd_ his world had become. Get up, go to work, come home, kiss your spouse, go to bed. Nothing in between. But what could he change about that?

Less than a week after their anniversary Kurt came home with a dazed look on his face. Just as Blaine stood to ask, his husband broke out in a wide grin before announcing, “I got the promotion!” And they were both so joyous they almost didn’t hear the doorbell ring with their supper over the celebratory sex happening in the living room.

So, that was something new. Kurt rambled on and on over dinner every night from then on about new discoveries he was now allowed to study. Old books and journals and notes from people from the world before. Some with writing so smudged Kurt spent hours deciphering each letter, and others coated in so much grime it took special handling to scrape it off without ruining the paper.

“They even said I could study documents that had been exposed to radioactivity,” Kurt told him. “But, given what happened to my mother, I…”

Blaine reached over and squeezed his hand, understanding.

The Artifacts Department wasn’t as exciting for him, however. Even though he wasn’t sweeping the floors anymore, he wasn’t exactly promoted either. Apparently there was an opportunity, much like Kurt had, to be given the chance to actually go out and dig up ancient items at the approved sites. The assistants apologized when Blaine asked, for they did not know he was in the back room dusting shelves.

He decided not to let it fester in anger. After all, since more people were moved up Blaine was given access to do the _actual_ job they hired him for. Now he could study smaller, less important items and figure out how they ticked. He learned back in the old days, the I-Am-Pod (or, as he figured out, just iPod) had multiple cousins to go along with it. Every single one with shiny screens and a little apple logo with a bite taken out of it. Why did these people use so many similar devices made of such fragile material?

It was an interesting story to tell at home. Kurt was absolutely fascinated with all his discoveries.

As with just the two of them, Blaine had a feeling that first anniversary was only the beginning of a new chapter. He couldn’t help but notice how comfortable the two were around each other, just like an old married couple. They would shave together, brush their teeth together, nap together on the couch. They would bicker over little things and make up with promises of massages or to do the other’s laundry.

Not to mention a few discoveries of their own.

“My mom used to take me here all the time when I was young,” Kurt was telling him, tugging his hand as they rounded the corner. “Well, there are a lot of parks in First District, but this was my favorite. I think because there’s this cute little pond which is so clear, you can see the fish swimming in the water…”

Blaine could only beam, squeezing their linked hands.

Evening walks weren’t uncommon between them, especially since the morning ones didn’t exactly work out. Blaine always woke up early, he felt more refreshed that way. But the one time he requested for them to watch the sunrise had Kurt mumbling and yawning the whole time, struggling to keep his eyes opened and leaning his head on Blaine’s shoulder. So, evening walks it was.

It also gave Blaine the opportunity to really see First District, and it still baffled him how place like this could exist in the same city as Third District. Every house they passed was clean and crisp, not a weed nor a chip of paint in sight. All the trees and bushes were trimmed to perfection, and the sidewalk bore no cracks or spots of dirt.

Kurt lead them to an opening between homes, and Blaine saw proof that even the recreational areas were just as beautiful.

Trimmed green grass, tall trees for shade, and vibrant gardens of multicolored flowers were just the beginning. One end the park included a playground, having swings and a slide and monkey bars, all of them occupied by energized children while their parents joined in or watched from benches nearby.

But it was the other end where Blaine could see why Kurt adored this place so much. In addition to the decorated beds of flowers and picnic tables was a willow tree swaying slightly in the breeze as it shaded the small, glittering pond.

His husband rambled again as they strolled hand-in-hand towards it. “One time I tried to catch one of the fish. I don’t know why, I think I thought if I caught it I’d get to keep it? Five-year-old me didn’t really understand how fish mechanics worked. But I leaned too far and _almost_ fell in but Mom snatched me away and gave me quite a long lecture on not kidnapping the park’s animals.”

Blaine laughed, picturing the scene too perfectly. There was a bench facing the pond, so they took a seat, resting their hands on Kurt’s leg. Despite the children squealing in the background, it was a moment of peaceful silence. The willow tree’s leaves fluttered, and Kurt inhaled deeply before letting it out with a sigh.

Thumb swiping against his knuckle, Blaine breathed too before asking, “Do you miss her?”

His husband took a moment before, “Yes, of course I do. She was my mom, of course I miss her.” He looked over at Blaine. “Do you miss yours?”

To be honest, Blaine tried hard not to think about his previous life back in Third District. Especially not his mother, by god. He never spoke of her, or any of his relatives for that matter. What did Kurt know besides the obvious?

“Well,” Blaine said, shrugging his shoulders and staring out at the artificial pond. It was obviously man-made; no pond was that perfectly circular. “I don’t know. Even though it was just us two, we were never incredibly close. She kept to herself mostly, especially after…” He coughed awkwardly. “It’s not like her and Dad were madly in love when he got arrested. They fought a lot and...then he was taken away and soon Cooper and it just...it messed her up real bad.”

He felt Kurt tense beside him, so Blaine quickly back-peddled. “Sorry, it’s just...I’m happier here. You make me happier.” Smiling, he squeezed his hand surely. “Besides, now you have the honor of taking me to my first park ever.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows in surprise. “ _Ever?_ Oh, Blaine…”

“Hey, don’t feel bad! If five-year-old me saw those fish, I’d be trying to befriend them in a heartbeat.” Kurt snorted and rolled his eyes. “And not to mention,” Blaine nodded over at the playground, “I would not survive those monkey bars. Those things are tall as _hell_.”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt scolded, unable to hide his giggles as he checked left and right to make sure no one overheard Blaine’s swear. Oh, he was beautiful like this. His face scrunched up as his smile stretched wide, cheeks and ears pink and he laughed musically. Perhaps they should come to this park more often...

“Well, hopefully our kids will be just as cautious as you,” Kurt said after a moment, smile still on his face. “I was here when one boy broke his wrist--”

“Our kids?” Blaine interrupted.

Another silence settled over them, not something filled with content but rather holding a gigantic question mark. Blaine was taken aback by Kurt’s comment while Kurt himself was bewildered by Blaine’s reaction.

Their hands slid apart as Kurt asked, “What, don’t you want children?”

Just like with Matching, parenthood was a choice. One didn’t _have_ to apply for a Match, just like one doesn’t _have_ to have children. But, it wasn’t a practice people chose often. Choosing not to be Matched was almost taboo. People were treated differently, talked about differently, given less perks from the government. Choosing not to have kids was just the same.

So while there was a choice, there really wasn’t one at all.

“D-do you?” Blaine decided to go with, hands uncertainly folding together. It was easier when they were twined with Kurt’s. “I mean, we’ll have to wait until we’re at least twenty-five for approval, and then, you know, they’ll be adopted based on our personalities and theirs--”

“I know, I know, I’m jumping ahead a bit too far,” Kurt said, crossing his legs and gesturing his hands. “But, I think we’d be good parents, don’t you?”

Well, Kurt would be, of course. His husband who is so kind and determined and wouldn’t go to sleep until he knew his baby was perfectly happy and healthy. As for Blaine...did Kurt not realize? Yes, his status had changed. Yes, they did not live in Third District as Blaine had but…

This was deeper than just ‘ _would they be good parents?_ ’ This had to do with the fact their child’s grandfather would be the most well-known criminal in Utopia.

But Blaine played it safe, taking Kurt’s hand again and sighing. “I think only the future can tell.”

His husband smiled--not as wide, but still. Their dinner would be arriving soon, so they started walking back. Long shadows stretched over the homes as the sun began setting. Kurt began talking about the neighbors he had growing up, bringing up how he played ‘house’ with the other children and he always was the daddy, but quickly cut himself off, now embarrassed. Blaine’s eyes stayed to the sidewalk, feeling the prodding persistence of guilt.

Oh, why couldn’t the world just be easy for once?

* * *

Life came to a halt on Friday.

Officers arrived to their home an hour after supper, wearing helmets but bearing no guns. Blaine saw them first outside their window and stiffened his jaw immediately. Kurt placed a hand on his arm and said he would answer the door.

Blaine stayed rigid in the living room, overhearing their conversation. From their monotonous voices, they seemed to be a man and woman. However, with Blaine grinding his teeth and focusing on steadying his breathing, their message almost drowned out.

The Officers were not here for Blaine, but for Kurt.

At least they sounded somewhat sympathetic when they told him his father had passed away.

He heard Kurt gasp, air caught in his throat halfway. Forgetting his anger and hatred towards the guests, Blaine sped to the entryway where Kurt stood frozen, gaping at the Officers with shock.

The woman Officer, Blaine guessed, continued explaining the situation as he comforted his shaking husband. He tried to catch every word while calming Kurt down, holding him as he broke into sobs.

_Heart failure...a surprise to the medics...terribly sorry…_

Then they were gone and Kurt was still crying into Blaine’s shoulder, fists gripping his shirt. Shushing him and rubbing his back, Blaine was about to suggest he sit down when Kurt stuttered out, “I d-d-didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Blaine’s heart clenched. “Oh, sweetheart…”

“I was m-meant to video message him--oh, _god--_ ”

Death was a tricky subject in Utopia. While the death penalty was outlawed to raise this society up from the barbaric nature the world had before, citizens were aware they were not to live past the age of eighty. It was very simple science: the body grows old and weak, the brain slows down, organs begin to fail. There was no point living beyond that age, so Utopia blessed you with an easy and painless departure.

Blaine remembered learning about the procedure in school and being absolutely creeped out by it all. Medics come to your home after you say goodbye to your family and friends and lay you down before inserting this liquid in the veins which stopped everything. Simple, painless, quicker than falling asleep.

Of course, some citizens died before the age of eighty. From work-related accidents like Kurt’s mother, from various cancers which did not yet have a cure, or from a violent act. But that last one only happened in Third District, and still that was quite rare.

And still, something about Burt Hummel’s death didn’t make sense to Blaine.

Kurt kept quiet and kept to himself. He preferred his space, so Blaine gave it to him until told otherwise. While his husband read for hours on the sofa as distraction or video messaged his friend Mercedes as comfort, Blaine had time to think and time to reflect.

No, this death absolutely didn’t make sense.

People don’t just die of heart failure. People can have weak hearts in their later years, yes, but the medics were smart. They’d provide surgery, medicine, or a change in diet. This was all very easy to manage, so citizens don’t just spontaneously _die_ without warning.

“Since I wasn’t at his bedside before he…” Kurt told him one day, his voice growing thick. “They said I’m allowed to see him before he’s cremated. Would you like to come with?”

And of course, Blaine was smart enough to know he couldn’t voice these concerns to Kurt. His husband was in a fragile place, he saw it every day. When Kurt got ready for work there was no energy in his eyes. Most nights he would wake up crying into his pillow. Blaine couldn’t just say…

But he could support. And when they entered the lower levels of the hospital guided by doctors in blue scrubs who gave them a moment of silence, Blaine could find nothing wrong with the body of his Match’s father.

Burt, who Blaine had only met when he and Kurt signed their marriage license, now had skin ghostly pale and eyes shut. No scars or no hints of an attack. He looked peaceful, like he had just fallen asleep.

_Quicker than falling asleep._

Kurt gripped his hand and sniffled loudly before wiping his nose on the back of his wrist. “He was all alone,” he whispered. “The Officers said when he hadn’t showed up for work they found him in the living room, just sprawled unmoving on the carpet.” He sniffed again, his chin trembling before his lips pursed tightly together.

If Blaine had been in any other situation, he would have made a remark on, ‘ _Well, you can’t trust everything the Officers say._ ’ Something which surely would tick Kurt off, and that’s the last thing his husband needed. Instead he brought Kurt in and wrapped an arm around his back, soothing across his spine.

It hit him like a crash, a deafening realization in the solemn morgue where Kurt shook while hiding his mouth behind his hand and the doctors chatted in hushed whispers behind them. It dawned upon Blaine so obviously, so blatantly clear he felt the hollow ache in his chest for his husband’s loss become whole again.

But, he couldn’t speak a word of it to Kurt.

At least not yet.

* * *

Life was different now, but Kurt prevailed, like how he always did.

His mother’s death when he was just a kid hit him deeply, as if someone came in and ripped a lung out of him. Everything felt too big and too empty. He was confused and absolutely devastated that somehow the world could ever be normal again.

However, Burt was there. Kurt wasn’t alone then.

One would think he’d be stronger, more prepared for another loss. But they’re always different, always rip out another part of you. And the worst part was that Kurt didn’t have his father’s strong, familiar arms wrapped around him telling him it would be okay.

But he had Blaine, so he wasn’t entirely alone either.

The grief was different. Trying to wake up and stomach the fact you’re parentless isn’t exactly easy. There were sympathies given at work or by neighbors in First District. There was paperwork sent to him from the government explaining the procedure in sorting out Burt’s belongings. It was a lot to take in.

Again, his husband was there. Ready for any hugs or concerns or just ‘ _we can talk about it if you want_.’ For that, Kurt was beyond grateful. He didn’t know if he could handle it all if he was on his own.

Mercedes was there as well, video messaging him after work. It was nice to have a face from his childhood--a connection with someone who knew his father just as well as he did. They could chat about Kurt’s father or work or the monstrosity of an outfit Mercedes’ neighbor wore in public.

“Go you, getting that promotion!” Mercedes said to him one day on her side of the screen. “Bring that Rachel Berry to shame!”

Kurt rolled his eyes, reclining in the desk chair as he folded his arms. “I know, I’m amazing.”

“Soon you’ll be Head of the Department, just like your mom!”

He smiled, blinking a few times. Mercedes never met her, but she knew how much Kurt looked up to her. “You’re too much,” was all he said.

There was ruckus behind her, and Mercedes glanced over her shoulder before sighing. “Sam got a promotion too, by the way. Now he’s an Officer who patrols _government facilities_.”

“ _I’m too awesome!_ ” Sam called in the background.

Kurt laughed. “Go him.”

“He’s pretty pumped.” Mercedes giggled when Sam could be heard whooping again. “So how’s your hubby doing?”

Kurt opened his mouth, then stopped. His husband--who was supposed to be home from work any minute now, actually--was recently, in a word, _off_.

Nothing _bad_ , of course. But nothing normal either. Blaine was Blaine, meaning he was still loving and caring and a compassionate man. Though in the spaces between these moments, in a few seconds between words something would shift, like Blaine desperately wanted to say something but decided against it.

Kurt couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

“He’s...alright,” Kurt told him, shrugging a little. “I mean, he’s been comforting me about...my dad, but he’s still acting sort of weird. Maybe _he_ doesn’t know how to handle this loss?”

“Hm,” Mercedes said. “I dunno. Maybe it is weird for him. Because, you know, even though he never sees them both of his parents are still _alive_.”

Heart missing a beat, Kurt shifted awkwardly in his chair and said nothing.

Thankfully, the front door opened behind him and Kurt spun around in his chair to see his husband standing at the entryway, undoing the buttons down the front of his blue jacket. Heart returning to its proper speed, Kurt breathed in before turning back to Mercedes, saying, “Speak of the hubby, he’s home.”

“Ooo, I’ll let you two be,” she said. “Tell him Sam and I say hi!”

“ _Blaine’s there? Hi Blaine!_ ”

“I will.” Kurt reached for the computer mouse, doing a little wave before, “Bye!” and clicking out of the window.

“Talking with Mercedes?” Blaine asked.

Kurt spun around again, seeing Blaine walk in the living room while shrugging off his jacket and smiling. “Yep. Talking about you, actually.”

“How handsome I am?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Blaine grinned, tossing the blue jacket on the couch before working on the cuff buttons. “How’s everything else going?”

It may have been a week since hearing the news, but Kurt knew what he meant. “Fine,” he said, picking at the edge of the armrest. “I--well, they say I’m going to have to go over there to sort out his belongings. See if I’m going to keep any of it.”

Blaine nodded once, fixing his jaw in that weird way as his eyebrows lowered a bit, and he put his hands on his hips before nodding again, not looking at Kurt. “Okay, sounds good.”

Kurt looked at _him_ , frowning with his eyebrows down. “What?”

“What?”

“You’ve got that... _face_ again,” he said. “Like every time I mention my father. Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing!” Blaine protested, eyes wide as he searched for more words, stuttering under Kurt’s stare. “You’re...grieving and I understand that, so I won’t--”

“Won’t what, be honest with me?” Kurt stood now, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to end this without answers. Blaine was all he had now, the least he could do was not be cryptic with him. Kurt’s world had been knocked off its axis, after all. Some simplicity would be nice. “Blaine, I’m not fragile. You can tell me anything.”

His husband sighed, standing there with his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his work shoes and pants still on, contrasting to Kurt who had changed into a purple sweater and comfy jeans. “I know.” Those eyes were calculating as his mouth pursed, deciding the right words. “It’s just...I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“Okay, about what?”

“About...” A pause. “Kurt, this is strange, right?”

He said it as if he were blurting it out, all rushed and determined. Kurt stammered for a moment, taken aback but certainly not speechless. “What’s strange?”

Blaine sucked in a breath, gesturing his hands as he grew comfortable in his stance, this topic apparently not foreign in his thoughts. “Don’t you realize nothing adds up? Like, nobody just _dies_ without warning in Utopia.”

Mouth dropping, Kurt stared at him stunned. “Are you trying to tell me,” he said, every word punctured in anger, “that they _lied_ about _my father’s death?!”_

It was one thing for Blaine acting off lately, it was another for him--

“No!” Blaine held out his palms. “Well, sort of.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Listen, just add up the facts!”

“ _Facts?_ What _facts?_ That my father was found d _ead--?_ ”

“Like I said, without warning! The medics would have known, Kurt! In his vital signs, there would have been indication of his health!”

Kurt couldn’t believe this. And to think he believed Blaine to have grown past all of this... “You can’t predict a heart attack.”

“But isn’t it _odd_ ,” he continued, taking a step forward and propping a hand on his hip while his other cut the air, emphasizing his words, “how _your_ father with no previous health concerns ends up _dead_ the same year you marry an _Anderson?_ ”

“ _Blaine--_ ”

“The same Anderson who has been mistreated at work?” Blaine went on, voice growing louder. “Who’s been getting smaller food portions than his husband?! Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Kurt!”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt hissed, eyes darting at the window. “ _Stop talking_. Do you have any idea what you’re _saying--?_ ”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re worried about them hearing!” He pointed at the same window, face incredulous at him. “Kurt, this is _their fault!_ They know exactly what they’re doing!”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Kurt shouted. “God, you’re going to end up killed just like your fath--”

He stopped, realizing too late.

Blaine noticed too, and his expression shifted from anger to confusion, his arm lowering as he stared at Kurt. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Kurt shook his head quickly. “I was just…”

“Kurt, my father was imprisoned.” Blaine took another step forward, studying his face. Kurt, too shocked at himself to look at him, kept his arms tight at his sides, his lungs unable to breathe properly.

“Kurt,” Blaine repeated, eyes wide and thick eyebrows down. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He finally looked at him, face hard as stone. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It absolutely does matter! If they--if people _knew_ they were--”

“ _Stop. Talking_.” Was all Kurt could grit out, hoping the pierce of those two words spread the message of, _You’re putting us both in danger with everything you say._

Blaine got the message, and made a little scoff before shaking his head. “Being scared is what keeps this system thriving.” Walking back, he snatched his jacket from the couch and began putting it on as he headed towards the front door.

Dropping his shoulders, Kurt called out, “Where are you going?”

“It doesn’t matter, now does it?”

The door slammed shut behind him and echoed through the home. In response Kurt huffed and stomped out of the living room and up the stairs, too furious to even think for a second on what his husband could possibly do with the same emotion fueling him.


	8. Chapter 8

Three hours later, a knock came from the front door.

Kurt huffed, tossing his book to the opposite side of the bed and striding out the bedroom, too bitter to be the bigger person here.

 _Are you ready to grow up and apologize?_ He was prepared to ask as he made way to the door, which knocked rapidly again. In fact, Kurt was still too upset to even bother wondering why his husband didn’t just come inside their home instead of requesting permission…

Grabbing the handle, he threw the door wide open, his expression dropping from anger to shock when he saw it was not Blaine standing there, but two Officers. Both almost identical in height and size, and both touching the gun strapped to their belt.

“Mr. Anderson-Hummel,” said the one to the left, a male by his tone of voice. Kurt could see his own reflection in the glossy helmet, wide-eyed and confused. “Your husband, Blaine Anderson-Hummel, has been arrested this evening.”

It felt as if he had plummeted through the earth.

Kurt stood frozen, forgetting how to move. His mouth was agape, he could see it in the helmets as he looked back and forth between the two Officers, who were still silent as statues, as if Kurt’s world _hadn’t_ just blown to bits and sent him spiraling--

“I--” He blinked a few times. “I don’t--”

“He was found breaking into the Archives Department,” explained the one to the right, a woman. “Searching through classified information. He then resisted arrest and managed to harm two Officers.”

Air stopped in his throat, and Kurt felt himself shaking. No, no, no...Blaine _wouldn’t…_

“When…” Kurt cleared his throat, attempted to sound less broken. “When is he being released?”

The Officers remained silent for a long time until the female one finally said, “We apologize for these troubles, Mr. Anderson-Hummel. In forty-eight hours you will be contacted in order to sort out options…”

Honestly, he barely comprehended the rest of their words. Only the image of his husband stood out in his mind, yelling at him then storming out. How his face was so stunned when Kurt let it slip his father was murdered. Michael Anderson, who was also just as furious and then executed without his family knowing…

(What if Blaine was already _dead…?_ )

Kurt was too numb to notice the Officers had said their farewells and left. He stood at the doorway, still and staring blankly out into the yard. For how long, he wasn’t sure. The sunset grew more orange after a while. Eventually, dinner was sent to his home, which somewhat brought him back to reality.

The journey from the door to the dining room he couldn’t remember. They only sent him one container, filled with steaming pasta and juicy chicken breast. He couldn’t taste any of it.

He couldn’t hear his heartbeat or feel his lungs expand with each breath. It was as if his body had shut down out of pure shock. To save himself from collapsing? From being pulled inwards like a maelstrom?

Blaine was gone.

And he didn’t know if or when he would return.

Through a spark of energy, an idea struck him. He hastily rushed to the living room computer, bringing up a video call with Mercedes. When he had nothing he at least still had her. Her face appeared moments later, and she looked rather confused.

“Kurt?” she asked. “What’s up?”

“Mercedes--” his voice cracked and sounded a million miles away. He coughed, not worrying how he must look at this moment. Crazed, lifeless, like he just saw a ghost. “I don’t know what to do. Officers came to our home--”

“Babe, what are you talking about?” A crease appeared on her forehead. Sam’s voice could be heard somewhere behind her, questioning what was happening.

“They came to tell me that Blaine had been _arrested_ and I just don’t know what I should do--”

The video cut. Mercedes face disappeared from his screen. Kurt was left gaping mid-sentence at a window asking if he wanted to make a call and to whom. It wasn’t like he ended the call, and Mercedes obviously hadn’t either…

He tried calling her again. A little error box only popped up. Kurt’s gut dropped as he backed away, hands shaking.

Later, he wasn’t sure how much, but later he sent in his vital signs. He watched the bar load from zero to one hundred percent complete, and he saw the green symbol of success flash on the screen. Kurt stayed in that chair far after he was finished, mouth closed and eyes unblinking. Useless and still.

This was his fault.

He should have never snooped in that basement. He should have never opened his stupid mouth. He should have kept in line--this is why they _said_ to keep in line.

_Like a herd of--_

No, _shut up_.

If he could, he would cry. It would be easier to cry. He made way up to the bedroom once more, unable to shower or change into pajamas but just lay on top of the soft, clean covers. Resting his head on Blaine’s pillow and staring at the opposite wall, Kurt waited for the tears to rise then burst like a faucet.

Nothing came. He remained paralyzed, unable to be eaten alive by sadness or despair or heartbreak. Kurt was sentenced to eternal solitude of nothingness, to feel an empty heart forever, it seemed.

_Blaine is gone because of you._

Curfew brought his house into darkness. He couldn’t remember if he eventually fell asleep or that his mind was kind enough to send him away to unconsciousness.

* * *

Utopia remained oblivious to Kurt’s suffering.

He went to work--he _had_ to go to work--and no one else stressed over the arrest of Blaine. No one else was numb inside, so it seemed. No one was ripping at their hair and wailing in the corner. Everyone was, in a sense, normal.

Like dutiful ants, people went about their tasks. Kurt did not see Rachel all day, given he was assigned to study this thick book which had certain phrases circled or underlined. Any other day he would have been thrilled over this opportunity, but now his movements were on autopilot. His thoughts were stuck in this hollow cloud.

All morning he tried coming up with solutions. But everything was shut down with simple logic, and that was this was beyond his source of power. What could he, an eighteen year old from First District, do in comparison to the decision of the Mayor?

The book. His job. Today he wore goggles and a protective plastic coat as well as rubber gloves as he bent over a table shined by an overhead light--the proper tools to examine an object from the olden days. Due to chemical spills and nuclear warfare, there’s no telling what these artifacts could have been exposed to.

While paperback and thoroughly worn, Kurt discovered the title after plenty of scannings. _The New American Bible_. Not the first time any religious text was studied here. People before Utopia seemed to be obsessed with the afterlife and pleasing a being in the sky. Kind of silly, if you asked Kurt.

 _Yes, distract yourself._ Ms. July had been walking about the labs earlier, scolding whoever for whatever. Perhaps he could appear well-adjusted just for the time being. Would she report him for acting odd? Or had the cameras already documented his actions?

_Oh, don’t tell me you’re worried about them hearing!_

Kurt’s mouth went tight as he fought back a lump in his throat. Don’t think about him, don’t break down now…

The bible had a red cover with what it seemed to be white text. Inside, the papers were unbelievably thin, most torn or wrinkled or missing altogether. This one belonged to someone with the initials _M.R_., as the scanning of the faded penmanship said. They used the same blue ink to underline particular phrases throughout the book. Kurt flipped the cover open slowly, deciding to might as well start at the first one.

The first underlined phrase: ‘ _God saw all he had made, and indeed it was very good_.’ Wow, okay, vague. He sighed and read from the start.

 _‘In the beginning, God created heaven and earth…’_ This story of creation basically stated the entire universe was formed in six days. People actually believed this stuff, in the age of science and technology?

_Blaine believed his father._

His chest stuttered. Kurt shook his head and continued on.

Ah, yes, of course this being in the sky created the first man from just dirt and blowing air out of his nose. Kurt tapped his fingers against the tabletop, leaning further to read better. The text grew faded, but he could make out a few words and understand the message.

For this man, God created a garden called Eden, which from what Kurt gathered, was ultimate paradise. Filled with everything one could need--a spouse, crops, animals, and apparently no identification between good and evil.

Kurt tilted his head, intrigued. According to this story, a certain tree held the knowledge of good and evil, but God forbid this man and his wife from eating from it. ‘ _The day you eat of that, you are doomed to die_ ,’ the story warned.

There’s also a snake. It tempted the wife to eat from the tree. Just one bite of fruit, and her eyes would be opened. She did, and she gave some to her husband. Kurt clicked his tongue softly, knowing this would not end well.

Poor Adam and Eve, now they were terrified of their creator and hid from him. Honestly, Kurt couldn’t blame them. With someone powerful enough to shape the universe, who wouldn’t fear to disobey them?

The lab was eerily silent as he read the ending of the tale. He could feel his heartbeat thump loudly under his ribs. God found them, and was furious. He expelled them from Eden, just outright banished his two humans from paradise.

Kurt frowned. All this trouble for eating an apple--

The door burst open and Kurt jolted upright, as if he had been caught in the act instead of just reading for research. At his doorway, a woman with narrowed eyes and wearing a white suit stood had one hand on her hip as the other leaned her against the door frame. “Working hard, Hummel?” Ms. July asked.

He nodded, perhaps too quickly to be claimed as normal, and closed the book before patting the cover with a gloved hand. “Just...examining this bible, Ms. July.”

She made a _mhm_ sound, scanning him up and down with a flick of her eyes. Then, she dropped the hand from the doorframe, saying, “My assistant Jan needs assistance, ironically, and she says you’ve been to the basement before so you know the drill.”

“I...I’m sorry?”

Ms. July widened her eyes, gesturing for him. “So, come on! I’m giving you permission to take a break from bookkeeping to help her.”

“Oh--oh! Yes, of course.” He quickly fumbled out of his coat and stripped off his gloves and goggles, too intimidated under his boss’ gaze to worry about the word _basement_ again.

However, a corner of Ms. July’s mouth quirked up as she escorted him to poor Jan. “You know, Hummel,” she said. “I like your work ethic. Perhaps you’ll grow higher in the ranks sooner than you think.”

He should have felt pride in her words. Instead his chest contracted uncomfortably, like her statement brought more worrisome than joy.

Jan, just as frazzled as ever, breathed a sigh of relief when Kurt approached her. “Nothing too crazy, just another file.” She handed it to him with a smile of gratitude, then was immediately occupied by her other tasks.

The walk to the elevator was just as last time, and Kurt felt a sense of déjà vu as he lowered down underground. The file this time read _Transportation Records_ , however. A drastic difference from last time.

Once there, Kurt found the cabinet easily. Slide the file in and done. He exhaled after he shut the drawer, listening to the faint echo bounce around the large room. Last time he was down here everything flipped upside down. Now it seemed this would be a ritual for the rest of his life. Just a normal part of his day, if Ms. July had any say in it.

He craned his head around his shoulder, seeing the rows upon rows of filing cabinets. All marked for easy organization. He remembered the number from last time--how could he forget? Cabinet 607.  Since he was at cabinet 203 right now it meant he could walk a few rows that way and then down four…

Well, no he shouldn’t. He made the mistake of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong last time, and look where it got him.

But honestly...what did he have to lose?

No hesitation stopped Kurt from striding down the rows, heading past other cabinets marked six hundred. Who cared about logic at this time when Kurt’s husband was taken away and possibly killed all because of one _stupid_ recording...

607, just how he left it. Kurt yanked the drawer open and was prepared to see the file marked _Court Confessions_ waiting there for him. Instead, he was taken aback by the sight of a new, thicker file placed in front of it. A file colored red and stamped with the word _EVIDENCE_.

What--

What on earth was that doing in the criminal records?

For the first time, Kurt’s worst fear wasn’t to be caught by cameras. He was purely afraid of this gigantic file, as if it were a sensitive bomb of some sorts. Reaching inside, he only meant to carefully move it forward, make room for the document he wanted in the first place.

However, he discovered this red file was packed with remote-like objects. The holographic video devices. The more Kurt stared at them, he realized that there were even more in there than Michael’s file. _Evidence_ , it said. Evidence for what?

He stared into the red file for two long. The too-bulky objects shifted from movement, exposing the paper hidden behind.

_Elizabeth Leanne Hummel:_

_Classified Traitor._

* * *

“Sing me another song!” Kurt pleaded, lifting his arms out from under his blankets, where he was previously tucked in snug not five seconds before.

Elizabeth smiled where she sat perched on the side of Kurt’s bed. Not a big bed, no not yet. Once he reached ten his parents said he would get a big boy bed. He was only eight, so it wouldn’t be long.

“Not now, my little bug,” she said, gently taking his raised hands and putting them under the blankets once again. “I’ve already done your favorite lullabies, you need to sleep.”

“I don’t _neeeed_ to,” Kurt argued. One misses too much of the day when they sleep, in his opinion.

His mother chuckled, her eyes squinting slightly when doing so. He hadn’t seen her laugh much lately. Elizabeth seemed tired when she came home from work. She hugged him a lot, Kurt noticed, and cried to Daddy as well. He didn’t know why, and he never got answers when he asked.

Then, Elizabeth’s shoulders dropped, and her smile faded as well. She stared at Kurt--her coppery hair fell out of her messy bun, a few strands dangling around her ears--and extended a hand forward to brush his bangs aside, then sweep her thumb across his cheek.

“But with sleep you can dream,” she told him. “Dream about wonderful things.”

Kurt twisted his mouth. “My teacher said that we shouldn’t dream about what we wanna be when we grow up. Because Utopia will make sure we’ll already have the best life ever!” He beamed, proud he remembered the lesson that day.

His mother’s mouth wobbled, and she blinked a few times before nodding twice. “Yes, yes of course.” Her voice sounded funny. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, a bit longer than normal. “Goodnight, Kurt.”

“I love you, Mommy.”

“I know.” Elizabeth pulled back to smile at him once more, her blue eyes watery. “And I love you, too. So much. More than you’ll ever know.”

The next night, he didn’t receive a lullaby. Instead, Kurt passed out from exhaustion on the sofa after crying with his father over the news of his mother’s unexpected death.

* * *

He didn’t want to turn on the recording, but he did.

He had to. His world was too insane to not to. But the fears rose to his throat as he held the device labeled _1_ in his palm--the fear of an evil woman, a vicious and angry person he wouldn’t even recognize…

Clicking it on, a small holographic screen shone an inch above the device. Kurt’s breath hitched as he stared at the woman on the image. Young, perhaps early twenties, with wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail. The room she was in was unknown, but she sat facing the camera, ready to talk to only it.

 _“Hello! Wow, okay.”_ She smiled so familiarly. Bright and happy. Kurt almost was convinced he was experiencing a vivid dream. His mother’s face and voice, something he hadn’t had in so long, was in the palm of his hand.

 _“First video message. This is exciting. Well, I figured it would be easier to communicate, you know? Considering you’ve been…”_ She awkwardly glanced off to the side. “ _I’m so sorry about that. I know it’s their way of punishment, banishing you to Third District. It’s like putting a child in time out, if you ask me.”_ She laughed to herself. _“And after one year of marriage? I’m sure your wife is upset. I mean, I wouldn’t be. I would understand.”_

Elizabeth paused, not looking at the camera when she sighed. _“I know we always joked about being Matched when we were kids, but I really am happy with Burt. He’s so kind and loving and...I know the whole Matching system is awful and immoral but I do give it credit for bringing me to him._

_“Anyway, with my job at the Archives Department I’ve been sorting documents from before Utopia, and the laws they had back then are fascinating. They totally show basic human rights that our founders took away from us--wait. I think someone’s coming. I’ll talk to you again, don’t worry!”_

The next tape was in an identical setting. Elizabeth had her hair down, but she didn’t look much older.

_“Oh my gosh, you would not believe what I found. Apparently there’s radio signals being brought in from people outside Utopia. Like, other people trying to contact us! Remember when they told us we were the last human survivors, because every other human destroyed one another? Well these radio signals just prove them wrong! They’ve been lying to us to keep us in, Michael! Just like you thought!_

_“Also...I saw your wife the other day. Cleaning the offices, of course. Pamela’s her name, right? I could see her baby bump so….congratulations! Burt and I discussed and, even though we’re of age I told him I wanted to wait for children of our own. And he completely understands, don’t worry. I just...god, I can’t even imagine bringing a child into this world. Unless if there was promise of a better one for them, but still…”_

In the third tape, Elizabeth was obviously pregnant, though with the look on her face she had other matters at hand.

“ _I’m sorry for the lack of messages. It’s becoming harder and there’s so much vital information I’m discovering, it’s killing me not to tell you. Thank god for Isabelle. I don’t know what we’d do without her. Well, thank god she can make trips to Third District for her Department._

 _“On to what I’ve found.”_ She rubbed her bump idly as she brought forward some papers. _“According to these documentations, our ancestors crumbled not because they continually made wrong choices, but because so many rights were being taken away that their government formed into this twisted dictatorship. They rebelled, and they paid the price. Utopia seemed to have wanted to start fresh, already stripping away those rights so no one knew they were gone in the first place.”_

She let out a long exhale, her hand stilling on her belly. _“It’s so unfair, Michael. For decades people have been living this lie that this is how humans are supposed to be. But without free will, what does that make us? Puppets, robots? Little mindless chess pieces? Oh, I do hope those Outsiders contact us soon. I want my baby to decide who he is by himself, not by some society made by numbers and statistics.”_

The fourth one. Elizabeth was older, perhaps late thirties. There’s bags under her eyes, but there was no change in determination.

_“I read over the information you brought in, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. We just continue to be pawns in their perfect little world! Always, day and night, we’re controlled to make sure nothing is our freedom! God, to think...to think I once thought there was some decency within the system. We need to find a way out, Michael. We can take our families and run. I know you want to expose the truth to everyone, but...I don’t think we can.”_

The fifth tape. It’s silent at first, only with Elizabeth looking at the camera, therefore seeming to look at Kurt. Her mouth moved slightly, as if wanting to say something but unsure what. She looked tired, drained. Her eyes are puffy from past tears.

 _“I…”_ she began, then stopped, voice cracking. _“I know you won’t see this. I know...I heard about your arrest. Everyone knows, Michael. And I know...I know they’re going to kill you._ ” She sniffed loudly, then wiped her nose on the back of her wrist. _“I told you not to go, but I know why you did. Someone needed to take action and make a stand. I’m just sorry we didn’t make one sooner.”_

She looked straight at the camera again. _“I saw the list of students in Kurt’s class. There’s a little boy named Blaine Anderson. You never mentioned having another son...I mean, I know we were discussing other issues, but why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been your friend for years and...I don’t know, I felt like you’ve changed these last years. Like the truth consumed you, turned you into a being that needed this to end at all costs. And that’s what we wanted but...Michael, they--they killed you because of this. And I--”_

Choked up, Elizabeth covered her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment. After collected herself, she breathed deeply through her nose and said, _“I’m still going to continue. Someone needs to, and someone needs to keep pushing for a better world. I’ll do my best to research and find more proof but...I’m just one person. I have Isabelle but...she’s not you, Michael.”_

The sixth tape. The last tape. Kurt noticed the date on the lower left corner of the screen right away. It was the day of his last lullaby.

Elizabeth sat in her chair, slouched and exhausted. She was in her early forties by now. A frown was on her lips, but otherwise her expression was blank. Empty.

“ _They’re going to kill me soon,_ ” she said, voice heartbreakingly even. _“I know they are. Probably tomorrow, when I leave for work they’ll take me.”_

A long pause as she breathed, eyes off to the side. Kurt remained rigid, too afraid to move as he waited.

 _“I said my goodbyes as best I could. My baby, my sweet little Kurt, I can’t even think what’s going to happen to him. I know he’ll do his best to be good, but…_ ” She inhaled shakily. _“We were so close to freedom. Actual freedom._

_“I considered telling Burt, but I couldn’t risk it. He’s a good man, almost too good. And there’s been times where I think he’s seen the deceit of our society, but...no luck. I did leave him notes, however, about our plan. It can only be deciphered through a code I know he’ll know. I mean, it was a special date for us, he’ll figure it out…”_

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and her eyes went back to the camera. _“This isn’t the end, Michael, I know it isn’t. History tends to repeat itself. People will know about Utopia’s evils. They’ll rise up and overthrow it, and I hope they’ll be successful. I’m just sad neither of us will be here to see it.”_

Elizabeth gave a tiny smile, and the recording clicked off. Kurt was left in dimness and utter silence. He felt stunned, bewildered, like his body itself was too much while draining to emptiness at the same time.

Now the world, in comparison to him, was astronomically enormous.

But this puzzle didn’t feel complete. He didn’t have all the answers yet. There had to be more. Where could he turn to now? The only people who could help were dead. His mother and father were gone, as well as Blaine’s father. And who knew about his husband’s fate? Who else could possibly--?

The answer hit him like a bullet to his chest. Kurt pressed his mouth tightly together, nodding once before stashing the sixth device back into the file, then slamming the metal drawer shut.

* * *

That evening, Kurt went home and changed into casual clothing. An off-white sweater with two black buttons on the collar, dark blue denim jeans, and shoes he knew he could live with if they got dirty. Which, with how his evening planned out, was more likely than not.

Before leaving, he looked back into their home. It seemed bizarrely quiet, like an undisturbed grave. Kurt glanced at the computer screen in the living room. There was no telling when he would return. Should he punch in his vital signs now?

_Little mindless chess pieces._

He fixed his jaw, turning away and closing the door behind him.

The monorails had no closing hours, they left for different Districts all the time. However, there were less people boarding than when work shifts ended. Kurt felt weirdly exposed when he climbed on and sat near the back, even though the handful of passengers didn’t even glance at him.

It stopped at Second District first, and everyone except Kurt left. He shifted in his seat, feeling too small on a now-empty monorail. It smoothly began moving again, and Kurt crossed his legs and folded his hands as he waited.

Houses became fewer as fields became wider. He watched out his window as miles of farmland zoomed by him while the massive city of Utopia shrunk in the distance.

After green crops and golden wheat, the monorail traveled past the factories. Craning his head up, Kurt saw grey puffs of smoke escape long chimneys and float to the sky. While not pretty to look at on the outside--just huge square cement structures--the factories made all material items Utopia needed. The clothes Mercedes designed came from these hideous things.

But...where was Third District? Having never been there before, Kurt looked around his seat and down the empty aisle, waiting for a voice over the speaker to announce the next stop. Yet the monorail kept going, past the blocky factories and into more barren land.

Green grass faded into a dusty dirt. Trees dwindled in numbers. The grey smoke could have been mistaken as clouds when finally the monorail’s speed decreased. Over the intercom a smooth voice said, “ _Now arriving to Third District_ …” Kurt’s heart skipped. For the first time in his life, he was going to enter an unfamiliar neighborhood.

The station on which they halted was...less than exemplary. The floorboards creaked under his feet, and the roof shook under the monorail’s engine. Kurt kept his elbows close to his body as he disembarked, eyeing the new environment like a cautious mouse. Any sudden movements and he might scurry away.

Where there wasn’t dirt, there were weeds. Where there wasn’t piles of old furniture faded from the sun or tipped over trash cans, there were what Kurt presumed were “houses.” Ratty old shacks with busted windows and patchwork roofs, which sunk in the middle from rainwater or snow. None of them caught the impression of ‘homely.’

He caught little details of these people’s lives as he slowly made way into the neighborhood, such as a clothesline attached from one house to the other, drying holey towels and a flower-patterned baby onesie. There was an old game of hopscotch scratched into the dirt, the first couple of numbers faded from footprints. A skinny dog poked its nose through someone’s torn garbage bag, and snapped its head up when it heard Kurt walking by.

How could a place like this exist today? Blaine grew up here, while Kurt grew up in practically a mansion. It was unfair, why would Utopia allow this--?

The voice in his head replied, _Like they ever played fair before._

Hugging his elbows, Kurt sucked in a breath and lifted his chin high. A foreign land where he obviously stuck out like a sore thumb wasn’t going to scare him off. He’s dealt with much worse things.

The first sign of residents was a white-haired woman wearing a filthy pink blouse and an even filthier denim skirt while she sat in a rocking chair on her front porch, She looked rather happy as she smiled off at nothing even when Kurt bravely approached her.

“Um, excuse me?” he asked, voice sounding oddly loud for such a quiet neighborhood.

The old woman squinted. “Clara? Is that you?”

Kurt stared at her for a moment before clearing his throat, waving his hand to try and get her attention. “Um, no, ma’am.”

Confused, the woman slowly turned her head until she saw Kurt. When she did, she smiled again, showing next to no teeth in her mouth.

“Yes, I’m sorry to bother you,” Kurt said slowly. “But I’m looking for a Pamela Anderson.”

The woman pointed at herself. “My name is Maggie!”

“No, I’m looking for _Pamela Anderson!_ ” Kurt half-shouted this time.

She smiled again and shook her head. “My name isn’t Pamela.”

“Yes, I know that!” Kurt expected his first encounter here was going to be with a lunatic, not a short-term memory grandmother. _God_ , he was going to be miscommunicating with her all day and never find Blaine’s mother by the time someone noticed he’s gone.

Maggie then pointed to her right. “If you’re looking for Pam, she lives at the last house down this street. You can’t miss it, there’s a flamingo in the front yard!”

Well, perhaps this woman was also a lunatic, but it was the first clue Kurt got. He clasped his hands together and did a little bow, slowly backing away towards that location. “ _Thank you, thank you_.” Maggie chuckled from her chair and waved farewell as he hurried down the road.

If Kurt had been paying half attention to the few other residents, he might have slowed down. If he heard the remarks of a child tugging on her mother’s skirt, whispering, “It’s a Prissy!” or seen the disgusted turn of the nose from an older gentlemen, he might have double checked himself. But Kurt was less than a block away from getting all the answers. Nothing and no one would stop him now.

Despite his doubts, there was a flamingo in the front yard. A plastic one sticking out of the ground, tilted forward though still bringing some color to this sad corner of the world. Kurt stood still and caught his breath for a moment, looking at the rusty mailbox and short chain link fence.

He remembered this was his husband’s childhood home.

Small and rickety, not even two floors held the Anderson house. Kurt opened the squeaky gate door and made way up the short path to the front door, which was a plain color brown and had a ripped screen door to go with it. Once up the three wooden steps, he carefully lifted his fist, knocked twice, and then folded his hands behind his back.

First, nothing. Kurt held his breath, wondering if that old lady really was off her rocker. Then came faint footsteps. Then the door opened, rattling as a pair of brown eyes glared at him through the screen.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded. “What do you want?”

Kurt widened his eyes, taking her in. She was short, for one thing, but very beautiful despite her living conditions. Her dark brown hair twisted in a knot behind her head, keeping a majority of her hair out of her face. Her shirt was a purple button-up, only smeared with a few smudges of dirt, and her jeans were worn around the knees. She seemed cautious of Kurt, but also hating him on sight.

“Mrs. Anderson,” Kurt said, surprisingly not choking on his own words. This was Blaine’s mother, his own mother-in-law, and this was how they first met.

She frowned. “How do you know my name?” She studied him up and down, and her mouth parted. “You’re one of those fucking Prissies, aren’t you? What the hell do you want from me?”

“Mrs. Anderson, I--” Flustered, he held out his palms as if to show he was harmless, and to try and stop her from backing away. “You don’t understand. I’m Blaine’s Match! My name is Kurt, I married your son.”

Her mouth tightened and she stared at him as if his words froze her bones to ice. “If you’re who you say you are,” she said slowly, “then there’s no reason you should be here. _Leave!_ ”

“No, trust me, I am!” His hands were against the tattered screen, the only barrier between him and Pamela. She was beginning to shut the door, and he couldn’t lose, not now, not when he’s come so far. “My name is Kurt Anderson-Hummel. Blaine and I married three months ago. His father was named Michael, he knew my mother Elizabeth!”

The name struck a chord in Pamela, Kurt saw it in how her shoulders went rigid and her hand gripped the doorknob. Her eyes snapped at his face, and she asked, “How do you know that?”

Kurt dropped his hands. “Well, if you let me inside, I was hoping we would both get some answers from each other.”

Exhaling a long breath, Pamela eyed outside to the left and right before nodding. “Fine. Get in here, and quick. Who knows if any Officers have seen you already.”

* * *

“Tea?” Pamela asked. Kurt shook his head politely, keeping his legs crossed and his hands folded tightly above his lap.

The home was no grander on the inside than on the outside. The kitchen was shoved in a tiny corner in the main room, and that’s where Pamela led him. As she fixed a kettle for herself over the ancient oven, Kurt stayed seated on one of the plastic chairs at the small circular dining table. A light bulb hung from a chain above his head. All the windows were covered with plaid curtains.

“So,” Pamela began, lifting a shoulder. “How do you know about your mother and my husband?”

“I, uh.” He never really admitted this to anyone before. “I was sort of snooping. Through the Archives. I found some evidence tapes of my mother’s.”

A corner of Pamela’s mouth quirked. “‘ _Sort of snooping_ ,’” she repeated. As she walked over to the other plastic chair, she said, “I remember the tapes. Michael protected those damn things more than a mother bear would over her cubs. He destroyed most before he was arrested, but I’m not surprised the Officers found some anyway.”

Kurt coughed, feeling terribly awkward but also not wanting any lies between them. “Um, Mrs. Anderson…”

“Honey, call me Pam.”

“Oh. Alright. Uh, Pam, well...I’m sorry to tell you but according to those tapes your...your husband was--”

“Executed?”

“Y-yes.”

She crossed her arms. “I figured. He kept telling me the death penalty wasn’t actually banned. I knew if with what crimes he pulled off, he wouldn’t be getting away so easily.”

“But...you didn’t believe him? With what he said about Utopia?”

That quirk of her mouth appeared again. “More so I didn’t _want_ to believe him. I mean, c’mon, I was a Second District girl who moved to First District thanks to her Match. Then after he fucked up I too had to go to Third. I was taught that the government knew best, because we humans--such as Michael--tended to make awful decisions.”

Kurt nodded and looked at his hands.

“Also…” Pam said after a pause. “I knew it was a conspiracy he and Elizabeth conjured up together. So, out of natural jealousy I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

Kurt lifted his head. “Jealousy? You were jealous of my mother? Why?”

Pam smiled sadly. “I suppose you don’t _know_ , really.” She sat straighter in her chair. “Fine, I’ll tell you. You deserve to know, after all.

“Michael and Elizabeth were best friends since childhood. They were neighbors in First District, always at each other’s side. I knew they probably thought they were each other’s Match, but when it turned out they weren’t, I knew Michael was...disappointed. That was the first time, I think, he really questioned if our society was truly right.” She laughed softly. “It’s funny, this whole mini rebellion began all because a boy had a broken heart.

“He and Elizabeth kept contact, of course, being best friends and all. That’s when he began filtering his ideas to her, and even though she actually loved her Match she saw his side clearly as well. So they began trading information they ‘sort of snooped’ around to find. Which is what I’m assuming your mother’s tapes showed.”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “She said we deserve free will. She said there were people outside Utopia living on their own.” He hesitated before asking. “Is that true?”

Pam scoffed. “Who the hell knows for sure? I know that’s what my oldest son Cooper believed, for why else would he try to cross the border?”

The border. Kurt caught a glimpse of it when he exited the monorail. Huge electric pillars radiating lines of deadly bolts wrapping around the edge of the city. It was Utopia’s version of the ‘Great Wall of China,’ as they were taught in school. How Blaine’s brother thought he could cross it successfully baffled Kurt.

“I mean, I should have expected it,” Pam continued, mostly to herself and shrugging. “The boys loved their father. Even if he wasn’t around much and never paid much attention when he _was_ home, he at least was _interesting_ in this hell hole.” She sighed, tilting her head at Kurt. “At least one of my sons turned out decent.”

“Ah, yeah…” Kurt scratched his arm awkwardly. “See, um, Pam...that’s kind of why I’m here. Blaine--well, yesterday Officers came to our home telling me that Blaine had been arrested--”

Pam’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ”

“He was breaking into the Archives, probably trying to look for proof like his father had. Look, it’s my fault, I told him Michael was killed--”

“Blaine was _arrested?_ ”

“--and I also didn’t know if you knew any way to free him?” Kurt asked. “Like, maybe Michael told you a plan in case if it happened to him…?”

Pam stared at him incredulously, fingers digging into her crossed arms. “Of course not! Once they send you to jail, you’re…” She blinked and shook her head, gawking at him. “Your husband was arrested and your next plan of action was to _snoop in the Archives?_ ”

“And come to Third District without permission…” Kurt added with a mumble.

Her mouth dropped farther. “You’re here _illegally?!_ ” Suddenly, the kettle screeched, and Pam’s attention went to it instead. She walked over hastily, and once the noise stopped Kurt could hear her cursing under her breath. “Kurt, what are you doing?” she demanded, whipping her head his way. “You’re in a good place. Don’t mess it up for the sake of your Match.”

“But--” Kurt’s sentence was cut by Pam grabbing his shoulders and leading him to the door. “He’s your son! Surely you understand--hey!”

He was back on the wooden steps again, and Pam was gripping the door handle. Outside, night began taking over the sky. Yellow light bulbs shined above people’s porches and doorways.

Pam stared at him, scared and on edge. “And he chose his fate. Listen, we were raised _right_. Follow the rules and you stay safe.”

“But Pam,” Kurt said, “after living here, not even you can believe that this system is rigged? That we’re all pieces in the government's game, and not only are _they_ cheating but a majority of the time _we_ can’t even choose our actions?”

Looking down, Pam nodded. “Yes, perhaps the Mayor cheats. But it’s better to continue playing the game instead of losing completely.” She gestured behind him. “You don’t want to end up here, Kurt. People stay indoors to avoid gang fights and rapes. No Officers help us. We’re constantly reminded that we’re the scum at the bottom of a bucket.”

“But you’re saying that _this_ is better than risking a way out?” he asked her.

She said nothing as her hand flexed on the door knob. Finally, she said to him, “Be smart, Kurt.” And proceeded to slam the door shut between them.

The walk back to the station was worse. Kurt’s hands were balled in fists and tucked under his crossed arms, mumbling to himself. How could talking to someone about obvious injustices in the world be so frustrating? _Obviously they’re right, Pam! Why would the government go through all this trouble eliminating everyone finding the truth?_ God, was this how Blaine felt when he tried convincing Kurt?

A yell sounded off in an alley near Kurt. He tensed for a moment, seeing shadows move then curses being thrown. Then came the noise of knuckles meeting flesh, and cheers following soon after. Kurt hugged himself and continued faster.

The monorail just pulled up to the station, and Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. He’ll go home, he’ll clear his mind, and he’ll think of a Plan B. If his husband was still alive he needed to free him. Mercedes will believe him and the lies of Utopia, for she’s doubted it before. Then he’ll convince Sam and maybe Rachel too. He’ll have a whole army going to rescue Blaine if that’s what it took--

The monorail doors slid open, and Kurt lifted his head only to be met face-to-face with half a dozen Officers in their white uniforms and glossy black helmets. All were facing him, and all had their guns pointed at his head.

“Kurt Hummel,” said the one closest to the middle. “You are to be escorted to the Mayor’s office. _Immediately_.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeyy I just wanted to say thanks to everyone reading and commenting on this fic. I have so much fun writing it and knowing others are enjoying it just makes it all the better <3

White boots echoed against white flooring. _Click. Clack. Click. Clack_. Marching synchronized as its noises bounced off tall white walls. The hallway was pristine in its color, bearing no shade in decorations or paint. Even the potted plants lining the walls were perfect white hydrangeas, not a wilted one in sight. Spotless, pure, why even the air itself smelled like it was clogged with disinfectant chemicals. An empty canvas, bearing no flaws whatsoever.

Which was why Kurt felt entirely out of place.

The six Officers who found him at Third District were with him still, caging him three by three on either side of him, hands on their guns. Two Officers in particular kept one of their hands tight on Kurt’s arm, leading him along. Kurt, with his dusty clothing and dirt-covered shoes, strikingly colorful compared to everything else surrounding him, kept his chin steady as they walked in the Capitol Building, straight upstairs and heading for the dome, he presumed.

His footsteps didn’t match the guards’, but he didn’t pay much attention. His eyes were elsewhere, studying the architecture and environment. No pictures were shown to them in school of what was inside the Capitol Building. The only other area he’s ever been in was the Banquet Hall during his Matching Ceremony, and that was alive with colors of red and gold. This...this was solid. Strict. Elegant walls didn’t need golden trim. The reflective floor needed no fancy carpet.

They were heading towards double doors, Kurt saw it at the end of the hall. The thumping of his heart increased in speed, and he faltered for a second. _The Mayor’s office_. The heart of Utopia. No one spoke of it. Again, there were no pictures.

An Officer on his left stepped out of line to take both door handles and twist them down, swinging both wide open, washing Kurt over with a gust of wind. He blinked a few times, throat dry and muscles tense.

In Kurt’s entire existence, he had never seen the Mayor. It was never questioned why Utopia’s leader never showed their face. It was just common knowledge: trust the Mayor, for the Mayor knew best.

For a moment, he was reminded of that bible passage he read what seemed like eons ago. He had shook his head at how silly civilization was before, putting faith into some being they never saw. Funny, how humanity repeats itself.

The pack of Officers ushered him into the large circular room, and he was simply awestruck. Indeed, they were inside the dome. Again, white walls and white floor, however it was the curve of the ceiling which caught his attention. Wrapped around in a perfect loop, a large screen loomed above him. Numbers and names rolled up and down in columns. Images flashed here and there, overlapping or adding together. Videos of parts of the city were in certain spaces, zooming in on certain people, cutting to another, scanning their face. This screen was packed with information, and constantly filtering through it.

He nearly stumbled on his feet at that moment. The two Officers kept a hold on him, however he did look down at his shoes on instinct. It was then he caught an image on the floor. Engraved into the marble, the only piece of decoration, was the map of Utopia. Kurt’s seen it hundreds of times, for it’s hung up in every classroom.

Utopia, in a sense, was designed like a target. In the center, of course, was the Capitol. The engraving had a tiny star in the center. On the outer rim marked First District, and little houses were shown on this etching. Next ring was Second District, more houses to show that. Then there was a quite a gap, with little pictures of wheat and factors with swirly smoke. Then, on the outermost ring was Third District, its few symbolized homes scattered here and there. Nothing beyond that.

Kurt did not have time to linger over the map for long, for the Officers ahead of him dispersed and the two holding his arms kept him walking to the center of the room. He was surprised he didn’t notice it at first, but in the bullseye of the room was a desk. Richly brown, breaking the norm of the color scheme, and seated behind it was a woman.

She hadn’t looked up once since they all entered. Her head was down as she read something on her holographic clipboard. She wore a white suit, much like any high authority figure in the working field, however the scarf around her head was a golden-yellow. Circular glasses sat on her nose.

Without even realizing they had left, an Officer appeared with a chair and set it down in front of the desk, causing echoes to sound off against the huge room. Kurt was shoved forward, and he shot the Officers a glare as he sat down, _clearly_ understanding the message.

The woman still hadn’t looked up at him, but the Officers began to leave. Kurt was afraid to glance behind him but he heard the footsteps fade and then the doors snip shut. Not one of them bothered for guard duty?

Kurt inhaled through his nose and stared at the woman. There was a holographic computer screen between them, like a smaller copy of half of the large screen overhead. He looked at her through it, waiting. Even though he _desperately_ wanted to speak first, start demanding _why_ , instinct kept him back.

Because there was no doubt Kurt was one of the few citizens of Utopia to ever be in the presence of their Mayor.

The woman eventually sighed, clicking her tongue before breaking the silence. “Kurt Hummel,” she said, eyes still on her clipboard. “I’ve heard so much about--”

“Anderson-Hummel.”

The woman snapped her eyes up. “I beg your pardon?”

He shifted slightly in his chair but did not break eye contact with her. _Great job, me. First thing you do is interrupt the most powerful person in the city._ “Anderson-Hummel,” he repeated. “That’s my name. Kurt Anderson-Hummel.”

She stared at him for a moment before smiling, close-mouthed, and proceeded to click off the clipboard and then the screen for her computer, leaving no barriers or distractions between them. “Ah, yes. Kurt _Anderson-_ Hummel.” She folded her hands on top of her desk, still smiling at him. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Kurt hardened his chin, not enjoying being talked to like a child. “Because you’re the Mayor.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Oh, no, no, no.” She shook her head. “My name is Carmen Tibideaux.” Leaning back in her chair, she beamed and pointed upwards. “ _That_ , my dear, is our Mayor.”

For a second, Kurt was puzzled. Then, slowly his features shifted as the realization washed over him, and he tilted his head to watch as names whizzed by, bar graphs fell and rose, and thousands of people were being analyzed closely on camera.

His mouth hung open until he finally managed to ask, “A computer…?”

Carmen folded her hands again. “A supercomputer. It catalogs everything, programmed to make no mistakes whatsoever.”

“So what does that make you?” Kurt asked.

“Some call me the...Mayor’s Human Representative.” Her eyes crinkled, as if amused. “The Mayor states it’s healthier for other people to discuss matters with another person rather than machine. I basically pass on information the Mayor has already decided.”

Those words did not settle well in Kurt’s skin. _The Mayor states_. God, don’t call _it_ that. That... _machine_ had been dictating their lives, not another living thing. The idea made his stomach turn.

“Yes, I was chosen for this position,” Carmen went on, leaning back in her chair, reminiscing. “Much like how you were chosen for the Archives Department. Instead of getting Matched the Mayor decided I was best fit to serve as Representative. To carry on the legacy. Before citizens _voted_ for their leader. As if the common people _knew_ who was best fit to lead them. Thankfully, we live in a time where numbers and facts tell us the truth.”

Kurt’s hands tightened to fists. His throat burned and he wasn’t sure why. “So why Match me with Blaine, when our parents were teaming up against you?”

Carmen raised her eyebrows. Oh, the part she had been waiting for. “Your mother and Blaine’s father were superb civilians, but alas their ideals did not vanish over time. They became a threat to the wellbeing of Utopia so they had to be eliminated.” She pointed her finger at him. “Your Match with Blaine Anderson was no mistake. Everything sought for in a couple came to a near perfect sum. Your parentage had nothing to do with it, though it was a concern. The Mayor figured with your exemplary record you could... _heal_ whatever damage Michael Anderson inflicted upon his son.”

Kurt blinked at her. “Damage...Blaine was not _damaged_.”

“Michael poisoned his brain, it was very obvious. Just like his father he did not let go of his fantasies.”

“Fan--they were not _fantasies_ , they were the truth!”

Carmen sighed, adjusting her glasses before, “Kurt, let me tell you something. The sole reason Utopia is led by a supercomputer is thanks to our founders. Did you think those who survived the United States’ downfall were idiots? No, they were _geniuses_. They came together to create the perfect leader, one who was not biased on appearance or race or gender, but one who lived by the rule of numbers and statistics, things that only told the truth and not opinions. Our ancestors were ruled by humans, just as stupid as them, and look where that led them.”

“So you arrest everyone who doesn’t share the belief that our government is without flaw?” Kurt demanded.

Carmen clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “No, no, of course not. Can you imagine how clogged our prison cells would be?” She laughed, and Kurt continued staring. “Everyone doubts their authority now and then. Teenagers go through a ‘rebellion stage’ where they think their parents _don’t_ know best. Citizens are just the same. People can doubt, it’s natural.” Shrugging, she nodded once at him. “Why, you and Mercedes Evans doubted the rule to immediately consummate your marriages, but are any of you two behind bars?”

Clenching his jaw and trying not to dwell on the fact _they heard that conversation. We were right to always fear them listening because it's true._ Which was why they cut that video call with Mercedes, of course. His eyes caught the attention of the screen behind Carmen’s head. Thousands of rectangle videos popped up here and there. He saw people in their homes, sitting on their couch or cleaning their kitchen. Talking to their children, arguing with their spouse. They could _always_ see everything. Every private moment wasn’t actually private at all.

Flush rose to Kurt’s cheeks, but he did control himself enough to ask, “Blaine has doubted plenty of times. Why arrest him _now?_ ”

Sighing again, Carmen slid her glasses off her nose and folded them in. “The Mayor considered it. However, to gather more data about human nature we decided we should _see_.” She lowered her chin and kept her eyes on him. “See how loyal Blaine was still to his father versus how loyal he became to _you_.”

Despite his unwavering stance before, Kurt fidgeted under her gaze, because apparently that answer was clear to her, or this conversation wouldn’t be happening in the first place. “What, so you _let_ him steal that artifact? All for the purpose of gathering data? What else did you let us do?” His expression dropped. “Did...you know about what I found in the Archives basement?”

“Of _course_ we do, Kurt. We know everything. Yet it was still the Mayor’s decision whether you’d receive punishment, and the order was not given.”

Kurt gulped a hard lump in his throat. “So...was it the Mayor’s order to also kill my father?”

The fight with Blaine flashed in his mind. How his husband was convinced the government was responsible for Burt’s death, and Kurt refused to believe him. That was the last time he saw Blaine, to think how much has changed since…

After a few moments of silence, Carmen answered, “Yes. I’m sure you remember in the tapes how your mother left notes for your father about their ‘big plans.’ Well, he found them and was beginning to believe her. Since he lived alone and had no one to stop him, the percentage was too high that he would continue her rebellion. So, the order was given.” She watched him as he processed this. “Do not worry, it was a painless death--”

“The death penalty is banned,” Kurt said flatly.

“Kurt, dear, at this point can we agree that most lies were said to _protect_ Utopia?”

“Protect? From what? Those... _Outsiders_ my mother mentioned? Opinionated citizens? From how _evil_ this system really is?”

Carmen frowned and her brown eyes hardened. “You too are a superb citizen, Kurt. Like Elizabeth was.” She reclined in her chair. “You showed no signs of doubt or defiance until your husband showed up. Which is why you were called here.”

Confused, he was ready to ask but then the double doors behind him opened, and he turned to see another woman, skinnier and taller, but also wearing a white suit, enter. She did not look at Kurt as she strode up to the desk.

Kurt gaped at her until rage settled deep within his chest.

“Isabelle Wright,” Carmen said, beaming and gesturing out towards her, “is the Head of the Matching Department. You know her, I presume.”

“We’ve met,” Kurt stated. This woman knew his mother, this woman _helped_ his mother and the government knew it from those tapes so why was _she_ standing here while Elizabeth was _executed--?!_

“The Mayor is gracious enough to give you a second chance,” Carmen told him, still smiling broadly, like this was the best news she brought all day. “Isabelle, go on.”

“Yes.” Isabelle took out her holographic clipboard, flicking it on and scrolling through her documents. Kurt’s glare didn’t fall. “Kurt, it is evident through examination that Blaine Anderson was not best fit for your Match.”

“What?!” Kurt whipped his head at Carmen then back at Isabelle. “You can’t say that. Of _course_ he was--”

“It happens, Kurt,” Carmen explained. “Sadly, the Mayor cannot guarantee love through Matching. Domestic violence still occurs, for example, even with--”

“Blaine _does_ love me! And I love him!”

Carmen raised a palm as if to tell him to calm down while Isabelle continued, “With the Mayor’s kindness, we are allowed to give you a chance at starting over.”

“What are you talking about?”

Carmen nodded happily. “Your statistics show you’d increase Utopia’s well-being greatly. So, instead of throwing you behind bars like your husband you are now granted an opportunity to forget him. To be paired with a new Match, be given a new house, perhaps even a new job at textiles with your friend Mercedes.” When she smiled, there was a glint in her eye. “All with the addition of a memory wipe.”

“But it wouldn’t erase everything,” Isabelle clarified. “Just everything beyond your Matching Ceremony.”

With all this information, one sentence stood loudly for Kurt. _Blaine was alive_. He was in prison and there was still a chance to see him--

He blinked, adding everything else up. “A new Match?”

Isabelle nodded, scrolling through her clipboard again. “Neither of them as perfect percentage-wise as with Mr. Anderson, but we do have plenty of close Matches. Like Chandler Kiehl, for example. You had a sixty-three percent success with him.”

Kurt’s mouth didn’t feel right. His heart thumped oddly. “But…” he said slowly, “I don’t want a new Match.”

Carmen gave him a look. “Dear, it’s either this or imprisonment. I’m sorry, but we have no choice. You know too much to be left alone in this city.” She held open her palms, “We are offering you a chance at a perfect life. Is that not something you’ve always wanted?”

A perfect life. Kurt had to take a moment to remember. Before Blaine, before he was near old enough to be of Matching age he had dreamed of his future. He and Mercedes would talk about it endlessly. How could they not? Kurt would daydream for _hours_ on his future husband. He pictured them living happily in First District, with a picket fence and green yard, a beautiful house and a fluffy cat. He dreamed about raising children and singing them lullabies like his mother had. He imagined his husband being tall and handsome, perfectly perfect in every way.

Carmen and Isabelle were waiting for an answer.

All of those dreams may have vanished when he married Blaine, but that didn’t mean more hadn’t arrived. True, Blaine was not tall. He became awkward at the topic of children. His distrust of the government tore a seam within their marriage, but it’s not like Kurt’s entirely of fault either.

A perfect life.

Textiles. He loved fashion. He’d wanted to work there with Mercedes almost _desperately_.

A new home. One in First District, no less, but with no memories of Blaine whatsoever.

A new spouse. One that would most likely love him and raise a family without hesitation, being perfectly content with living happily ever after. And Kurt would know nothing else.

To think he always feared of making the wrong choice, it all came down to this one. Live a new life without Blaine or endure the same fate he had.

_Little mindless chess pieces._

The large screen continued its work, rapidly filing through equations which calculated people’s predicted behavior and scanning blood samples for health concerns. That computer, who did not have a heart or soul, was telling Kurt that while he did have a choice, there really wasn’t one at all.            

“So, Kurt Hummel,” Carmen said, “what will it be?”

Kurt squared his jaw, raising his head to meet Carmen’s eyes directly. “My name is Kurt Anderson-Hummel. That is not changing anytime soon.”

Carmen sighed, as if disappointed, and lifted her glasses to slide them back on, and then nod at Isabelle. The other woman clicked off her clipboard and said not a word. Though Carmen, with her smile and slim hint of warmth completely gone, looked at Kurt with a hard expression. “Very well.” She tapped a button on her keyboard, saying louder, “Officers, take him away.”

* * *

Down, down, down descended the elevator, zipping for minutes on end. Fluorescent lights shines above their heads. White uniformed Officers held tightly to his arms yet again, though Kurt could see no point. His hands were cuffed in front of him, anyway.

He was forced to wear different clothes before his trip to the prison, which apparently was underground. His sweater and jeans were traded for drab prison clothing--if Kurt was in any other situation, he would have judged this outfit to the day’s end. Chalky grey, really? The boxy shoulder sleeves were too wide and his trousers too baggy. It was horrendous if anything.

Isabelle joined him on the journey. She stood next to him in the cramped elevator, staring ahead and keeping silent. Kurt mirrored her in stance but made it _very_ clear that he knew, and he _knew_ that she knew, and he was furious.

If the guards weren’t there with hands next to their triggers, he would surely scream how _unfair it is that Elizabeth is dead and you, Isabelle, are not._

How far down were they? Certainly farther than the Archives basement. The air became cooler, almost thinner. When the elevator finally started slowing down, Kurt’s heart beat anxiously behind his ribs, forgetting his hatred at Carmen and the Mayor, forgetting his anger at Isabelle. Instead, he remembered, _I am going to jail. This is the last place you want to be in Utopia._

He had no idea what to expect, for he never really questioned the concept of this infamous prison in the first place. _Well, of course you didn’t, you were never supposed to question anything_. Huh, ignorance really is bliss.

The elevator finally stopped, and the doors slid open. While Isabelle gracefully took a step out Kurt was practically shoved forward by the two Officers. He shot them a quick glower before realizing where he was, and when he looked around his breath caught in his throat.

The prison was shaped like a gigantic hollow cylinder. Completely circular, the ceiling stopping for air vents and the rest going down, down. More fluorescent lights lit the area, though not illuminating it completely. It felt grey-ish, menacing. Rooms lined each floor, each with a glass wall to see everything inside from the outside. In the center was a tall cement tower, it seemed, also cylinder and having tinted windows wrapped around to watch every floor at every angle.

“Our prison is based on the Panopticon design,” Isabelle was saying as they walked forward on the first floor, curving around to head towards a flight of stairs. “It is said to be the most ideal design, for every inmate is watched by every inmate, and the Officers in the tower have full surveillance as well. Even though it’s impossible for the guards to watch everyone at once, the inmates are unaware _when_ they are being watched, so their behavior is self-controlled constantly.”

Kurt kept silent as his eyes wandered to the cells. People, men and women alike, occupied more than he anticipated. All wore the same grey prison outfit. Some looked up when he walked by, and when they did there was nothing but hatred on their faces.

As they reached the stairs, Isabelle stopped and sighed, turning to the Officers. “Well, I’ll take it from here, boys.”

Confused, the Officers glanced at each other before one said, “We were given orders to escort Mr. Hummel all the way to…”

“You don’t think I know my way around down here? The Matching Department is in charge of handling all marriage concerns involving the inmates.”

“But, Ms. Wright--”

As if frustrated, she whipped out a key card, holding it up to them. “I can handle this. Now if you’ll please uncuff Mr. Hummel, we’ll be on our way and you can go back to your other duties.”

“But--”

“That’s an _order_ , gentlemen.”

Uncomfortable but certainly not opposed, the Officers hastily undid the cuffs around Kurt’s wrists, allowing Isabelle to grip his arm now. “If he shows any sign of resistance--”

“I know, I know.” She waved them off. “ _Thank you,_ Officers.”

Equally confused as his guards, Kurt watched them walk the direction they came as Isabelle lead him away, down the flight of metal stairs to the next floor. But now he and Isabelle were alone, so he finally could say, “I think it’s _funny_ how--”

“ _Hush_ ,” she hissed, twisting to look over her shoulder before continuing faster.

Kurt scrunched his eyebrows together. “ _Excuse_ me--?”

She ignored him, reaching the bottom of the steps and yanking him suddenly to the left, into a small, practically hidden alcove. Kurt stumbled and scanned around like a frantic bird, bewildered out of his mind. What was going on? Wouldn’t someone see...?

“Wha--” He struggled against Isabelle’s grip. “What is going on--?!”

“Kurt, listen to me,” she said quietly, making him face her. “There isn’t much time--”

“People--your precious _Mayor_ \--they’re going to see--”

“You don’t think I know every location in Utopia where the cameras _don’t_ reach?” she asked. “Where they _can’t_ hear us?”

His heart thumped under his rib cage, a thunderous and rapid thumping. He could only stare at her, wide-eyed and heavy breathing. “What do you want?” he demanded.

She swallowed, glancing to the side before loosening her iron hold on him. “I am sorry about your mother. And I know you must be upset--”

“Just _upset?!_ ”

“ _But_ ,” Isabelle went on, “she wanted me to lie about my involvement. She _wanted_ me to stay in Utopia, at the Mayor’s service, because her last request…” Her voice choked up momentarily. “Before she was taken and killed, Elizabeth asked me to _look after_ you. Keep you _safe_.”

Kurt scoffed. “Like I’m going to believe that.”

Again, Isabelle brought out the key card, thrusting it into Kurt’s hand. “Here,” she said, her fingers overlapping his. “ _Take it_. Keep it hidden. It can unlock every cell door in this facility, inside or out.” She made sure his eyes were locked on hers before, “They are planning to execute you two. You and your husband. The serum doesn’t get shipped in until Monday, so we have some time.”

“Time for _what?_ ”

Isabelle paused, probably thinking she heard footsteps, before replying, “Wait twenty-four hours, that’s all I ask. Tomorrow, at midnight, use the keycard and get yourself _out_. There will be an Officer waiting at the elevator we used to get down here. Go with him, he’ll take you to safety.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” Kurt asked with a scowl.

Isabelle exhaled, looking so tired and _worn_. The bags under her eyes were clear, the dullness in her irises were evident. “Your mother was one of my closest friends. She was nothing but good, and the Mayor decided that was dangerous. I have hated them for _years_ for what they did to her.”

She squeezed his hand with the key card in it, smiling. “So my last request to you is to trust me. Please.”

Mind swirling with all this information, Kurt didn’t feel hardness in his heart anymore. However, he did blink once, realizing, “They’ll...they’ll know. About how you helped me, they always _know--_ ”

Isabelle only smiled again. “Better to go out with a bang, right?”

No sirens went off when they re-entered the hall. No one batted an eye as Kurt and Isabelle walked forward into the monitored scene. She held him by his arm again, and he had his hands in front of him. The key card was stashed away under his ugly clothes.

“Here we are,” Isabelle said, stopping at a cell and fishing out another identical key card. Kurt craned his head around, trying to peer in through the cell’s glass wall, but she had unlocked the door, catching his attention by saying, “This is your new living space. I hope it accommodates well.”

Even after he stepped inside, he watched her shut the door, hearing a slight beep to indicate it was securely locked. Eventually, he did turn to face the interior of his new home. However, before that, with eyes at the glass wall allowing all of prison to watch him and him them, he heard a heartbreakingly familiar voice say, “Kurt?”

Hours and days of unfixable aching and drowning in sorrow was suddenly healed. All it took was a strong _K_ and how the voice rose once it ended on the _t_. His poor, beaten heart, mended and swelling to the size of the sun.

Kurt snapped his head around, seeing almost in slow-motion his beautiful Blaine stand and stride to him, reaching out to him, and then hands were framing his face and those glittering hazel eyes were _there_ and Kurt wasn’t _dreaming--_

Blaine was right in front of him and _alright_.

“Why are you here?” Blaine asked, sounding breathless and confused, eyes studying Kurt’s face. “What happened? Are you okay--?”

Surely, he had a million and one things to tell Blaine considering the events of these past two days. But his plans shut down briefly, for all Kurt needed to do was grab the front of Blaine’s hideous grey shirt and yank him in for a kiss.

A long-awaited kiss, one in which stitched together all the falling, torn seams in Kurt and made him complete so strongly and fast he could burst into tears. His husband’s warm lips pressed to his again. His husband’s strong hands remembering where they were and gripping to bring him closer. This wasn’t a dream. God, Kurt thought he’d lost this forever.

He had to break it so he could open his eyes, see Blaine’s face again, keep witnessing this reality. Blaine had no serious marks or injuries, though Kurt did spot a fading purple bruise near his hairline, and another under the hinge of his jaw. No gel in jail meant his hair was an unkempt mess of curls, corkscrewing over his forehead and around his ears. No razors either, for stubble grew across his chin and jawline. He wore the same atrocious prison clothes as him, which Kurt had to smile at. If at any other time he and Blaine wore identical outfits, he would be having a meltdown.

“Kurt,” Blaine said again, softer this time. “ _Why_ are you here?”

The cell was small now that Kurt got a good look at it. Blank cement floor and three concrete walls. A cot was pushed off to the left wall, covered with a scratchy-looking yellow blanket and flat pillow. There was a sink and toilet jutting out of the right wall (Kurt decided not to fathom over the fact that not even their bathroom business was private here). Nearer to where they stood a stack of paperback books were piled up, with faded covers not even Kurt recognized.

Exhaling for the first time in what seemed to be forever, Kurt found one of Blaine’s hands and squeezed it tight. “It’s kind of a long story…”

He led Blaine to the cot, to the spot he was when Kurt first entered the cell. Blaine didn’t take his eyes off him, nor did he loosen his hold on Kurt’s hand. He was waiting for Kurt to speak, and after inhaling deeply, Kurt lifted his eyes up to his, and told him everything.

Starting at the beginning, to when the Officers showed up after Blaine was arrested. Then to when the Mayor cut his call with Mercedes, most likely because he had mentioned Blaine. Then to when Kurt had to go to the basement at work, and how he found his mother’s video devices. Blaine’s eyebrows lifted at this part, equally surprised to hear his father’s and Elizabeth’s plan and ultimate murder. Next came Kurt’s decision to go to Third District, and Kurt interrupted Blaine just as he opened his mouth, “Hey, you would’ve been proud of me. I didn’t even send in my vital signs.”

Kurt briefly talked about his meeting with Pam, for he saw Blaine’s stance tense. He came to the part about the Officers finding him and taking him to the Mayor, and that’s when Blaine’s eyes bugged.

“ _The_ Mayor?” he asked.

However, his shock transformed to bewilderment when Kurt told him the truth about their leader. He explained how Blaine was right, how it was the government's doing that Burt passed away. When he came upon the part of Isabelle entering and Kurt being granted an entire new life with a new Match, Blaine’s mouth pinched tightly and he looked almost scared for Kurt to finish the story.

“But I refused,” Kurt concluded with a sigh, “and that’s why I’m here.”

Blaine absorbed this for a moment, Kurt saw his shoulders relax. Their hands had remained linked, and Kurt took this moment to flex his fingers, twining them in between Blaine’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry that we fought before. I’m sorry I…kept that about your fath--”

“No, no--” Blaine scooted closer to him, squeezing Kurt’s hand. “No, Kurt. Don’t apologize. We both messed up and now…” He shrugged, glancing away. “You didn’t have to agree to continue being my Match. I would rather have you safe up there than down here.”

_Oh, Blaine. We both know no one’s safe in either place_.

But instead, Kurt told him, “I chose you because I love you. And--screw the system! I _know_ you are my perfect match.”

A corner of Blaine’s mouth curled up. “ _‘Screw’_ huh? Kurt Anderson-Hummel, I do believe we are one step closer to having you curse.”

“What can I say?” He smirked. “You’ve been a bad influence on me.”

* * *

For two days Blaine had time to adapt to the prison. It wasn’t hard for him, for he spent eighteen years of his life in Third District. Well, this was slightly better--clean water came from the sink and there was a stable roof over his head.

On the other hand, it was agonizingly horrid. Blaine knew he was always being watched, not only by cameras no doubt but by Officers and other prisoners. No matter what he did, he could feel eyes on him. At least with cameras he didn’t have to see the eyes on the other side. This was much worse.

To think, the only thing that could keep him grounded and not curled up in a ball was imagining his husband. Whether it be just memories of him smiling or laughing or kissing him sweetly or reconstructing their last conversation. Like if Blaine could go back in time, what would he fix? Should he have not started any fires in the first place? Turn his back on the Archives and go home to hold Kurt close and apologize over and over _I’m sorry I’m so stupid and reckless._

Still, the last thing he wanted was Kurt _here_ , in this twisted sort of hell. Kurt, who never had to face violent people or those so demented all they wanted to do was inflict pain. Watching through the glass wall Blaine saw what these living conditions did to some inmates. A man across from them had started pounding fists against his walls until he fell unconscious. A woman started screaming from the floor above and pulling at her hair.

But that night, they shared the cot, and Blaine let himself be happy that Kurt was in his arms again. It may be selfish of him, but to feel the familiar body clinging close to him and hear his soft, steady breaths was heavenly. Under the yellow blanket unable to cover them both completely and sharing the thinnest pillow in existence they slept together, and Blaine for once wasn’t completely scared down here.

In the morning, Kurt began to discover the faults in their new living space. He became uncomfortable when he had to use the toilet, always glancing over his shoulder even though Blaine had turned away. Later, he crossed his arms and sat on the cot for a bit, unable to be peaceful as he constantly looked over at the glass wall. It was hard to find ease here.

“What are these for?” Kurt asked, kneeling over the pile of books. He picked up the one at the top of the pile, reading the back cover.

“They provided them for, uh, entertainment I think?” Blaine replied from his spot on the cot. “They’re novels from the old world which survived to this one. One Officer explained that, like, they used to provide them to the public to enrich our culture, but the Mayor thought having any ideas engraved in us from the past would slow our evolution, or something.”

Kurt made a “ _hmm_ ” sound, flipping it back to the front. “ _Pride and Prejudice_.”

“Yep. I finished that one yesterday morning. It’s good.”

Opening to the first page, Kurt read aloud, “‘ _It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife_.’” He looked up at Blaine, smirking. “Wow.”

“Hey, c’mon! It’s about, you know, social expectations back then and...judging people by their class, and,” Blaine quirked a smile at him, “how love always wins.”

“I can see why Utopia banned it,” Kurt remarked, continuing to read the rest as he walked over to the cot. He didn’t take his eyes off it as he settled down, knees drawn up and his back reclined against the wall.

Food was delivered to their cell via Officers ready with their guns, sliding the containers through the small slot at the bottom of the door. After two days here, Blaine knew what to expect, but when Kurt opened his container his mouth formed into a frown and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

Mushy green peas and a slab of partially-cooked chicken as well as a slice of stale bread. Kurt looked up at Blaine, utterly confused, “So...our diet isn’t tracked down here?”

Blaine shrugged, taking his identical meal to the cot.

They actually talked then, about Blaine’s time down here. Kurt brought it up as it picked apart his bread, hesitating at first. But Blaine didn’t mind.

“Well, they caught me trying to get into the Archives. I dunno, I thought if I found what you found I could show everyone and...finally get people to see.” _Stupid. Reckless_. “The Officers weren’t exactly friendly. They said, after they got a hold of me, that they had direct orders from the Mayor for my punishment. So, I was brought down here, got new clothes, and wasn’t told anything else.”

Blaine’s anger that night quickly was replaced with fear. There were stories of Utopia’s prison. Hell, he had thought for years his father had suffered down here. He remembered the ride down that elevator, shivering and small, quietly asking the Officer painfully clutching his arm what was going to happen to his husband now.

Needless to say, he didn’t get an answer.

“I, uh, met some of the inmates,” Blaine told him after swallowing a bite of chicken. Kurt looked up at him, eyebrows nipping together. “It was before you came, apparently it was our floor’s turn to shower. I was, um, fresh meat so the other men started talking to me, asking how I got here. I learned about them too.” He shrugged again, staring at his food. “You wouldn’t believe some of the crimes. Some are in for stealing, others for refusing to go to work multiple days in a row. One purposely didn’t send in his vital signs, you’d like him. A few for committing adultery and this one guy for attacking an Officer in public.” He stopped, frowning. “Weird, how we never hear about these things.”

Kurt lifted his shoulders. “Why bring up flaws in the ‘perfect’ society?”

Blaine nodded in agreement, playing with his food before, “They aren’t all monsters, though. A majority are here for the same reason as me.” When silence settled between them, he tried to lighten the mood with, “I know you’re going to hate waiting a week to shower but trust me, you’re going to despise the environment when we actually do.”

It was meant to be a playful joke, but Kurt looked awkward, pursing his mouth and not meeting Blaine’s eye.

His husband began to get antsy as the day turned into evening. He would pace back and forth along the glass wall, craning his head up at the center tower or watching Officers walk by on patrol. He would worry his bottom lip between his teeth and drum his fingers on his arm, like he was anxiously waiting for something. What, Kurt? No one’s coming for him.

Their lights in the cell dimmed meaning it was ‘curfew’. Blaine grabbed the pathetic excuse for the pillow and blanket, arranging them on the cot. He looked over at Kurt, who was still staring out the glass wall, and said, “Kurt, please come to bed.”

Again, a pathetic excuse for a _‘bed’_. Their actual bed in First District was like heaven compared to this tiny thing. Large and soft, caressing their bodies like a cloud with its countless fluffy pillows and warm duvet. This cot’s mattress was barely an inch thick and had stains Blaine didn’t even want to _think_ about.

They barely managed to fit on it, the two of them. Blaine lied on his back as Kurt tucked into his side, partially laying on top of him, his cheek pressed to his chest. Blaine’s arm wrapped around him, thumb rubbing at his shoulder and wishing Kurt wasn’t so _tense_.

Night two for them together. Staring at the ceiling, Blaine’s eyelids drifted shut, and he let his mind wander on that luxurious bed back at home, even though it can’t be called home anymore…

Less than a minute later, a hand slid up his chest and came to rest beside his neck, gently cupping it, then Kurt’s body shifted and the blanket moved. Blaine almost opened his eyes, but a cool pair of lips pressed to his neck.

His chest momentarily stopped rising. He tightened his hold at Kurt’s shoulder, opening his mouth to say something but forgot how to as his husband kept kissing at his neck, gently, just a scattering of small pecks. When he reached the stubble Kurt opened his mouth a bit, kissing harder, sucking at the skin.

That’s when Blaine opened his eyes, noticing his breathing quickening. They were still in the cell, in the uncomfortable cot. The glass wall was still there, and even though most prisoners were asleep, Officers still watched from the tinted tower windows.

“Kurt--” Blaine whispered, but his husband was moving to bring a leg around Blaine’s waist, shuffling so he could straddle him, though not taking his lips away from their mission. He trailed open-mouthed kissed along his jaw, the noises growing louder in their cell.

“Kurt,” Blaine tried again, evening his voice, hands settling on Kurt’s hips. The baggy prison pants couldn’t hide much, he could see Kurt’s want for this. Heat squirmed in his gut. However, he did contain himself, saying, “What are you doing?”

Kurt stopped, lifting his head up with a face Blaine didn’t expect--glassy eyes, wide and almost desperate, a pinkened mouth, pursed again. Hands around Blaine’s neck, the thumbs soothed the skin, quicker than normal.

“Can…we?” Kurt asked, voice quiet, sort of shaky. “Please? It’s--been so long, and...”

Jesus, _how_ long have they been without intimacy? Blaine tried to remember, it was before Burt’s death for sure. But through _everything_ that had happened between then and now it’s a miracle they’re both alive and here together and, be honest Blaine, they only way to cope during the first night here was imagining taking Kurt in his arms again…

He sighed, hands firm on Kurt’s waist as he shook his head. “Darling, we _can’t_.”

Funny, he feels like Kurt all those times before. _They’re watching us, don’t you remember_?

Kurt chewed his lip, appearing as if he was going to say something else, perhaps counter Blaine’s argument, but in the end he lifted himself off, settling down again, and not saying anything else.

Now Blaine was the one with unease, but he did manage to close his eyes, trying to find sleep again. What he wouldn’t give just to make love with Kurt one more time. What he wouldn’t do to make him happy for one more day, just before that was all taken away from them. The fact was hard to swallow, that this was their home now and prison was a life sentence, just ask any of the inmates. They could never leave.

Time passed differently down here, but Blaine did wake some time later. Confused, at first, because the cell was still dark. Then puzzled, because Kurt’s body was not lying beside him anymore.

He sat up, hurriedly looking around the small room. His eyes adjusted, and he found his husband was still here, and his arrival was not some dream. Yet, Kurt was at the cell door, messing around with something.

There was a beep, and suddenly their door was open.


	10. Chapter 10

“What are you doing?”

Kurt was still in this state of shock that it took him a moment to whip around, seeing his husband wide awake and staring at him with bewilderment.

The key card worked. He had doubted that it wouldn’t, that Isabelle had somehow tricked him and it only set off blaring alarms and surely put them in more trouble than they already were. But then again, he knew he had to try. If a tiny inkling of hope said that he could save him and Blaine from certain death, he had to take it.

And now their cell door was ajar, and no Officers were coming at them.

“I…” Kurt stuttered, fiddling with the key in his hand. His heart pounded loudly under his ribs. There couldn’t be much time, he knew that, but Blaine was getting up and making way towards him.

“How did you…” Blaine said, mouth hanging open at Kurt and then the door and then back at Kurt.

He took a deep breath, steadying his thoughts. “We’re getting out of here. _Now_.”

Whatever master plan Isabelle had, it was working. Blaine and Kurt crept along the cells, fast but not running. Kurt led the way, always checking at the watch tower in the center of the prison. Even though he couldn’t tell, thanks to the tinted windows, he wondered if any Officers were even stationed there. How could anyone ever tell?

Other prisoners were either asleep or simply not caring enough to notice them hurry by in the dim light. Blaine, while following close behind Kurt, was still incredibly confused on the situation, for he hissed, “I don’t understand, _how_ did you get that card?”

“Isabelle gave it to me, it opens all cell doors,” Kurt whispered back, trying to remember how to get to the elevator.

“Isabelle _Wright?_ ”

“Yes, it was my mother’s last request for her to look after me.”

“So she set up this escape plan?”

“ _Yes_ , Blaine. Now we need to get to the elevator and fast.”

“Wait,” Blaine caught his arm, stopping their frantic escape. For a split second Kurt was absolutely _furious_. Blaine should know time was of the essence here, but his husband’s face was wide-eyed with scared realization. “Cooper.”

“What?”

“Cooper is in one of these cells. I remember...when I first got here an Officer made a comment like, ‘ _oh look another Anderson kid_.’ Kurt, we _have_ to get him too.”

“Blaine--” His skin itched with how bad of an idea this was. He didn’t know how long Isabelle had security off. And whoever was waiting in that elevator wouldn’t be there forever. But how could he say no to rescue his husband’s brother when they had the chance?

So now they had a mission to hurry to Cooper’s cell, which thankfully wasn’t as far away as Kurt feared. Their footsteps echoed across the eerily quiet prison, and their panting breath wasn’t any quieter. Though they had no clue, Blaine had heard rumors. Down one level and around the other side of the watch tower was when Blaine finally skidded to a halt, out of breath, and pressed his palm flat against the glass. “It’s him.”

Blaine’s brother wasn’t asleep, but sat on his cot with his head tipped back against the wall. He looked up when Kurt swiped the card and opened the door. Squinting, Cooper realized they weren’t Officers here to see him.

Kurt stayed behind Blaine, glancing between his husband and brother-in-law. Blaine hadn’t seen Cooper in almost ten years. They had the same dark hair, though Cooper’s wasn’t curly. He had blue eyes instead of hazel, with deep bags shadowed underneath. A scruffy, short beard grew along his jaw. Yet, just like every other Anderson, he had expressive eyebrows that right now bunched downward.

“Coop…” Blaine exhaled.

Cooper tilted his head, blinking a few times before realizing with a hitch in his chest, “Blaine?”

Time kept ticking. Now their group grew from two to three escapees. Blaine tried to explain everything to Cooper as they rushed up to the elevator. Kurt heard them talk behind him while he led the way, “...so it turns out Dad wasn’t crazy--”

“Well, no shit, I could’ve told you that,” Cooper remarked. “By the way, I can’t express how happy I am that I’m still taller than you.”

“Thanks. Anyway, I got Matched to Kurt, who now has a key card to get us out of here--”

“ _You’re_ Blaine’s Match?” Cooper asked, attention at Kurt while they hurried up the stairs. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our dysfunctional family! Congrats, though, on getting the second handsomest brother.”

“ _Cooper_.”

“What? You can’t deny I _rock_ this beard.”

They finally made it to the elevator. It stood like a beacon of hope. After coming to a stop, Kurt fumbled with the key card, heartbeat racing in his ears, and he heard Cooper say, “Tell me I’m dreaming. In no scenario does my baby brother and his husband show up and break us all out of prison.”

In the midst of Cooper’s jabbering, Kurt didn’t even have the chance to swipe the door open, for the elevator opened by itself. A white-uniformed Officer with a sleek black helmet stood inside it.

In a flash Kurt’s hands flew up in surrender and Cooper cursed under his breath while Blaine grabbed at Kurt’s arm, instinct trying to pull him away from the door. However Kurt remembered Isabelle’s instructors soon enough, and noticed how this Officer wasn’t fazed at all by their appearance.

“A-are you here to help us?” Kurt stammered.

“Get inside,” the Officer ordered, the voice oddly familiar.

Cramped inside the fluorescent-lit elevator, Blaine with a hand still on Kurt’s arm as Kurt stared at their newfound ally. They ascended up, up, up, and he personally knew this journey would take several minutes so he asked the Officer in a surprisingly even voice, “Who are you?”

The Officer turned their head, reached without hesitation with one hand to unfasten the helmet, and pulled it off before tossing their blond hair and smiling.

Kurt’s jaw dropped as he and Blaine both said, “ _Sam?!_ ”

“What’s up, guys?” Sam grinned wider.

“Wh--what are you doing--?”

“How...why--?”

“Well, long story short, that Matching lady Ms. Wright came up to me at work and said she needed help. And I was like, whoa important government business! And then she said that you and Blaine were in jail unfairly and I was like...oh, man. And of course I was going to help free you guys. Like, you’re my best bros out there, ya know?”

Then Sam paused and looked over them. “But who’s the other dude?”

Cooper beamed. “I’m Blaine’s older brother!”

Oh, what a night of weird introductions.

Sam had his helmet back on when they reached the surface. He told them that in order for this to work, they had to keep their eyes low and their hands behind their backs. Sam then got a tight grip on his weapon, putting on the demeanor of serious Officer.

Air stopped in Kurt’s throat once they departed and made it outside. Utopia’s Capitol glittered in the muted midnight. Black sky above was the backdrop to the purple-ish hue below. Sam nudged them with his gun to keep them walking. Kurt couldn’t help but notice which direction they were being lead.

The monorail station nearest to the Capitol Building was their safest bet. Their footsteps seem to grow louder the closer they reached it, in Kurt’s opinion. His breathing quickened, his senses on hyper alert. Everything was working too smoothly, too perfectly. From learning his entire life that every action was kept a close eye on, it was now Kurt was out in the wide open committing the most illegal act one could do.

A monorail waited at the station, its engines on, like a patient beast. Sam stood positioned besides the opened door, nodding for them to enter. Cooper went in first, then Blaine, looking over his shoulder for Kurt to follow. Kurt lingered for a moment, lifting his head up at Sam, and mouthing, _“Thank you.”_

He heard Sam inhale under his helmet, then saw him give a tiny nod in return.

That’s when all the yellow streetlights turned red.

Kurt snapped his head up, panic stabbing through him but Sam had roughly grabbed and shoved him inside. Then taking the monorail’s doors, he yanked them shut himself, yelling towards the front of the train, “ _We’re in! Go! Now!_ ”

Before asking any questions, the monorail violently lurched forward and the four passengers on board were thrown to the floor. With pain flaring in his right elbow Kurt twisted around, searching for his husband from the shaking ground and apparently asking, “Are you okay?” the same time Blaine did.

Whoever drove this thing must have taken it off the auto-controls, for no monorail should be traveling at this alarming of speeds. From his spot on the floor Kurt felt the rough vibrations under his hands and legs. They made it out of the Capitol quickly enough, but he still saw glimpses of the red lights from a nearby window. Over the whizzing of the train he swore he heard the blaring of alarms.

He swallowed harshly. _They knew_.

Sam, who had tossed off his helmet again, was awkwardly reaching for support, and he motioned for the others to do the same. As he struggled to stand from gripping onto a seat, Kurt saw blurs of houses zoom by them, along with more red streetlamps. They must be traveling through First District. Was the alert sent everywhere?

Cooper kept being jostled down to his rear every time he attempted to get leverage. Blaine was beside Kurt, having better luck than his brother, and managing to actually sit down on a seat before anyone else. “Need help?”

Another rough lurch and Kurt almost went toppling over again. He nodded and accepted Blaine’s hand.

The incredible speed matched with the rise of panic made Kurt’s stomach churn. Wincing, he wrapped his arms around his abdomen and tried taking deep breaths. He felt Blaine’s hand smooth across his spine, though the monorail shook them both greatly.

_Funny_ , Kurt couldn’t help but think, _the last time your stomach was this upset was on the same monorail, the night of your Matching Ceremony._

Once out of Second District the sirens grew faint and the monorail actually slowed down a bit. Blaine and Kurt lifted their heads up. Cooper, defeated on the floor, noticed the decrease in speed as well and scrambled to his feet, beaming when he didn’t fall over. Sam was already making way towards the other end of the monorail.

Cautiously, Kurt and Blaine followed, and Cooper soon at their heels. Kurt felt Blaine’s hand slide into his, their fingers lacing tight, and he felt the brush of a cool metal ring. Shoulders relaxing, Kurt squeezed lightly and continued down the aisle.

The monorail hummed all around them. Wheat fields and wide night sky now passed by the windows. As they neared the cockpit, Kurt remembered learning in school that Utopia’s trains needed no conductor, that they were programmed specifically by the government. Well, for this enterprise that meant there _needed_ to be a conductor, but the question was _who…_

Sam, leading the group, reached the open cockpit first. Windows wrapped around wide enough one could see the tracks and surrounding landscape. Panels of holographic controls made a half-moon around the conductor’s chair, showing percentages and graphs of fuel and speed and everything in between. Kurt’s eye caught attention to a certain flashing red box on one screen, warning that autopilot was disengaged.

Slapping a hand on the large seat, Sam leaned over and said to the driver, “Nice escape there, dude.”

“Hey, it’s the first time I actually drove one of these things, cut me some slack.”

The chair swiveled around, showing the face of their conductor. Actually, he was tall enough to fit in the seat perfectly, and he smiled over at Kurt and waved. “Hey.”

Kurt’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Finn Hudson?”

“Rachel’s husband?” Blaine whispered, sounding just as puzzled.

Finn turned back to the controls. “Yeah, we all went to school together. I know it’s weird, ‘cause we didn’t really talk much then, but I worked with your dad, Kurt!” He craned his head over his shoulder. “He was like, my mentor, you know? Anyway, before he, uh...passed away he gave me...these!” And Finn lifted up a worn manila envelope. “Told me not to open them until ‘the time was right’ or something. And then Ms. Wright--you know, the Matching lady--came to me one day asking if I had them, and now that I know what they are I’m helping you escape!” He grinned, handing the envelope over to Kurt.

Kurt accepted it, feeling a bit dizzy with all this new information. He turned the envelope over in his hands, still listening to Finn talk, “They’re secrets to get out of Utopia. Burt deciphered most of it already, like how to hijack the monorail. But others, like to turn off the border, they’re still unsolved.”

“Turn off the border?” Cooper repeated.

“Yeah. Ms. Wright said Kurt would know how…”

Even with the speed, their arrival to Third District wouldn’t be for quite some time. In this chaotic night, there was finally a moment of standstill. Kurt could breathe, examine the envelope, and walk a few steps away from the cockpit.

“You okay?” Blaine whispered, right beside him again, hand on Kurt’s elbow. Kurt glanced up, actually _looking_ at him for the first time since their escape. His husband’s hair was a mess, his unflattering prison clothes a bit damp around the collar from sweat. Blaine actually seemed more collected than Kurt with this whole circumstance, even though it was _Blaine_ who had no idea this would be happening, who found his brother after almost a decade, who was now on this mission towards…

“Finn?” Kurt asked, a slight crack in his voice. “Where are you taking us?”

“To the border,” Finn replied, like it was obvious. “Did you read the instructions yet?”

Inside the envelope were countless handwritten papers. Kurt couldn’t even fathom reading them all right then. He and Blaine found themselves seated as they tried filtering through them all. Cooper started making small talk with Sam, mostly about the border, which Cooper had his fair share of experience with.

Every note began with, “ _Dearest Burt,_ ” and ended in, “ _Sincerely yours, Elizabeth_.” Each were written rather hastily, as if Elizabeth was running out of time. Some words were scribbled out or smeared. Burt’s handwriting was etched in here and there, where he put the puzzle pieces together ( _How long had he’d been doing this…?_ ). Kurt found the one on how Elizabeth figured out how to hijack the monorails, though he didn’t quite understand the locomotive language. His mother’s version of love letters to his father were intricate steps on how to break out of the city.

“Here,” Blaine said, lifting a paper from his pile, “it’s about the border.”

Kurt snatched it and scanned it in record time. Over the knocking of his pulse in his ears he at least understood Elizabeth had help from a friend ( _oh, I wonder who_ ) to reprogram the back-up code to turn off the border. The bottom half of the page showed a sketch of the panel at one of the huge electric pillars, yet the new code wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Kurt vaguely remembered back when he found those tapes and Elizabeth mentioned a code, but it was meant to decipher, so could it also mean this? _I mean, it was a special date for us, he’ll figure it out…_

“Do you understand it?” Blaine asked.

He shook his head slowly. “No...I don’t.”

The next moments were silent. Finn drove them past the factories, which were closed down for the night. Cooper had finally shut his mouth after running out of things to say and now occupied himself by examining his beard on the reflection of Sam’s helmet. Sam stayed next to Finn, arms crossed. Kurt sat next to Blaine, folding and unfolding his fingers and wishing his heart would slow down.

Hope told him it would be okay. Logic countered that Utopia didn’t have the greatest track record of just letting felonies go.  

Blaine nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey, we made it.”

Kurt gave him a half-smile. “Not yet.”

“So? We made it farther than our parents ever did. This’ll go down in history for sure.”

That made him smile a bit wider. Then Kurt laughed, despite himself, and rubbed a hand across his face. “I broke out of prison today.”

Blaine laughed too, loud and joyful. “Yeah, you did.”

“And now I’m on a stolen monorail.”

“You are the definition of a deviant.”

“I just...I can do anything now, right? I could run naked through that field. I could stick my head out this window and say--” He paused, lighting up with an idea. With a gasp he reached over to the seat’s window, fumbling with the latch and then sliding it open, the night breeze whipping past.

After a noise of worriment from Blaine, Kurt grasped tight on the window’s edge and poked his head out at the open world, the wind making his hair fly wildly. He grinned, staring back at the shrinking city in the distance, his chest fluttering with this new delight. Sucking in a breath, Kurt shouted with all ounces of bravery,

“ _Fuck you, Utopia!_ ”

Blaine made a shrieking cackle somewhere inside the monorail. Kurt only laughed again, cupping a hand around his mouth to yell, “ _And fuck you, Mayor!_ ”

* * *

For a little bit, everything was okay. Kurt might have labeled the atmosphere as ‘peaceful.’ Hand linked to Blaine’s, he could feel his pulse steady. Maybe he could believe everything will work out.

However, just as Third District began to appear in their vision, Sam looked over at the now-closed window next to Kurt and asked, “Wait, what’s that?”

Everyone’s head turned in that direction. Kurt frowned, peering out and unable to find anything interesting except dark night sky and dusty fields. “What’s what?”

Sam came forward, leaning over the seats in front of them to see better himself. “There. Those red lights…”

Blaine and Cooper were cramming to get a look as well. Finn was asking from the conductor’s seat, “What’s up?” as Kurt studied further, trying to see what on earth Sam was--

Red lights.

Coming from the city were three, maybe four, tiny red dots in the sky. They were becoming larger, which Kurt realized meant they were coming _nearer--_

“ _God_ \--this isn’t good,” Sam hissed, posture incredibly tense.

“What is it?” Finn called.

“ _Choppers_ ,” Sam replied. “Four of them coming in from the city. We need to go faster!”

Thankfully they were actually seated when Finn accelerated the monorail. Kurt gripped the sides of his seat, body vibrating with the momentum as he stared over his shoulder, eyes on the red dots. Blaine was asking, “What are choppers?”

“Flying machines,” Sam told him. “You know back in the old days the government had helicopters? Sort of like that, except from what _I_ know is that these things were invented as a, like, last resort option.”

“What are they gonna do?” Cooper asked.

“Well...hopefully they don’t fire at us.”

Third District grew nearer and nearer by the second. Sam whipped his head at Kurt, blond bangs scrambled over his forehead. “Did you figure out those notes?”

He had completely forgot about them at this point. Kurt gathered them into his lap, stammering, “Um…”

“ _Well?!_ ”

“What am I supposed to do? They make no sense!”

“Kurt, that’s supposed to get you out of here!” Finn yelled from the front.

“Are--are you guys not coming with us?” Blaine cut in, glancing at Sam then at Finn.

Sam paused, face softening. “Finn and I still got family here, man.”

“They’ll capture you,” Kurt told him. “You aided in freeing prisoners.”

Sam shrugged. “And maybe they won’t. Gotta hold out on a little hope, right?”

The station came in sight as the choppers flew closer, given the noises that soon became present. It was an odd sound, like the buzzing of blades. All four red lights became spotlights, and they all circled the monorail.

“What’s the plan?” Blaine asked, staring along with Kurt out the window.

Kurt turned back to Sam. “You’re dropping us off at the station, correct?”

He nodded. “Isabelle said you’d run to the border from here. Then, you’d know how to turn it off, then you’re free.”

Ignoring the fact that he clearly _didn’t_ know how, Kurt went on, “But now we have the choppers.”

“ _Well_ ,” Sam said, reaching for his weapon. “I could try to hold them off for a bit.”

“Sam--”

“Hey, I’m a good shot. If anything, I could take out their lights. That’ll make it harder for them to find you. Plus, an advantage we have here is that the choppers aren’t programed to fly over the border.” He winked. “I learned _that_ in Officer training.”

With a tight chest, Kurt nodded. Then, hesitantly, he looked across the aisle to Cooper. “And...there’s no other way to cross the border?”

His brother-in-law widened his eyes, frowned deeply, and shook his head. “Since climbing those damn poles didn’t work, I’d say Plan B is our best bet.”

“But I don’t _know--_ ”

Brakes were applied and the monorail started screeching to a rough halt, interrupting Kurt’s protest. In the moments it arrived to Third District’s station, Sam had taken his gun and gone to a vacant seat towards the middle, yanking a window open and pointing the nose of his weapon out of it. He began firing shots once Finn stopped the train completely, and Kurt couldn’t even flinch at the chorus of _bangs_ with the limited time they had.

The doors flew open. Cooper was first to leave. Kurt looked behind to catch a last glimpse of Finn or Sam, to thank them for everything. He did see Finn’s smile and his thumbs-up for good luck, but unfortunately couldn’t say a word in return for Blaine was steering him outside.

What else would he have said besides a thanks? If he had one more minute with either of them… _I’m sorry you got dragged into this mess, neither of you deserve it. Tell Mercedes I love her and I’m sorry for leaving. Tell Rachel goodbye for me, I did like her. And Finn, you’re a good man, I’m sure my dad would’ve been proud of you today._

Third District was as silent as a grave when they ran through it, weaving under clotheslines and in between homes. The choppers could be heard overhead, louder out in the open. Cooper led the way, clearly knowing a path to the border better than them. His long legs kept him farther in the lead, but he kept looking over his shoulder to say, “C’mon, boys! Right this way!”

Dull yellow streetlights lit the path until neighborhoods were no more. Open field of thin grass and dry dirt was all that was left between the three of them and the dominating border in the distance. The towering pillars marked the edge every hundred or so feet. Kurt gulped between his pants, pumping his arms and continuing to run as fast as possible. He heard Blaine next to him, their feet pounding against the earth.

That was around the time red spotlights began to appear. Sam must’ve taken out one, but that was all. Kurt first witnessed one ahead of them, the circle wandering towards the left. Another appeared quite closer. A third brushed against Blaine’s arm.

“ _Hurry up, you two!_ ” shouted Cooper.

That was when bullets started hitting the ground.

The first shower missed their path by about ten feet, but Kurt still yelped and staggered on his feet, terror ripping through his chest. Dirt kicked up when another row fell nearer to Cooper, though he just swore in response.

They were almost there. Delayed sirens went off in Third District, but there was no point now when chopper’s blades battered through the air.

Kurt could see, at this distance, the tiny panel on the bottom of the pillar his mother mentioned in her papers. Then he lost breath, because he remembered the plan, and how he couldn’t finish the plan because he didn’t know the code--

They were less than fifty feet away when Blaine screamed and tumbled to the ground.

Kurt immediately stopped in his tracks, turning around and forgetting the danger of bullets were still falling and the spotlights still following them because his husband clutched his shoulder from where he lay crumpled on the ground. Through the limited light, Kurt spotted Blaine’s sleeve stained dark--

His gut dropped through the earth and his brain went numb. Nothing else mattered. He couldn’t even feel his legs moving towards Blaine until a hand was jerking him backwards and away--

“ _Keep going!_ ” Cooper shouted, and suddenly everything was loud again. “ _I got him, just get to the border!_ ”

Kurt should’ve shouted right back at him. He should’ve shoved him and gone to his husband, who was crying in pain. But the choppers were deafening and the bullets pelted the earth next to them and so Kurt’s brain temporarily went on autopilot, and with wide-eyes and short breath he staggered away, slowly starting a sprint to the pillar ahead.

He didn’t have his mother’s notes. They were still on the monorail, god _damn it_. Had Officers stopped to search it at this point? Were Finn and Sam caught and arrested, or shot on the spot? Those thoughts swam and swam into a maelstrom as Kurt slowed, halting at the pillar with his palms out. The steel tower was incredibly larger up close, and rose so high he had to crane his head to see it all. Then, one look at the panel and his mind blanked.

He opened the lid easily and there it was inside, with a small keyboard composed of the numbers zero to nine. His heart made quite a racket under his ribs as he tried to tell his brain to _just think_ and oh god the red spotlight was directly on him now, shining bright against the pillar--

_Think, think, think, think._

One code to turn off the electricity. He could hear its deadly humming, though it was invisible from pillar to pillar. Another set of bullets rained down too close to him, missing Kurt and hitting the electric fence, sizzling to dust at the touch.

The set of numbers mocked him, giving no help to Kurt, who stared at it with all the pleas he could muster. He couldn’t remember what the page of notes looked like. Had Elizabeth left an extra clue on it? Had he missed something?!

_Think! Think! Think!_

He heard footsteps--slow, dragging footsteps--behind him, meaning Cooper and Blaine were coming. If they stayed there they’d be sitting targets. The marksmen in the choppers would kill them in a matter of seconds.

_It was a special date for us,_ his mother had said. _He’ll figure it out…_

The tapes message indicated Burt would be the one to know the code. In a desperate flash, he punched in his parent’s wedding anniversary. After hitting the green confirming key he was given a negative _beep_ sound, and the electric humming continued. Cooper screamed, “ _C’mon, Kurt!_ ” right before more bullets scattered down, barely missing them.

He tapped in his mother’s birthday. It again greeted him with negative sounds.

Special date for us.

_What else is there, mom?_

He’ll figure it out.

His hands shook, and that’s when an idea dawned on him. But he hesitated, because no, that was too coincidental, too easy. Would his mother, who didn’t want to bring a child into this evil world in the first place, really revolve all of their grand plans around…?

But, desperate on any sort of hope, he punched in the numbers _5-27-2153_.

The electricity turned off at once.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the quickest update on this story?? But it is so saddening because we're almost done with this tale :( ah well, enjoy this chapter anyway!!

Blaine woke up to the sight of trees.

He laid on the ground, for no bed was this bumpy and coarse. It smelled like dirt and dewy grass. The light slicing between the branches was blinding--was it morning? Squeezing his eyes shut, he groaned and lifted a hand up for shade. Sharp pain ripped from his left shoulder all throughout his body, and he tensed and groaned louder.

“Hey, careful there, baby brother.”

Reality zipped forward until all puzzle pieces settled in Blaine’s mind. His eyes shot open, and he turned his head sharply to see, with his shifted perspective, his older brother seated near him, smiling under his ridiculous beard.

Oh yeah. This reality was so _jarring_. Ten (god, _ten_ ) years ago when Cooper tried to escape and was arrested, Blaine didn’t know what else to do but feel so utterly afraid. First his dad and now his older brother. He didn’t feel safe in a world everyone claimed was perfect. He had no one to turn to, for his mother sunk into an isolating depression, and no other Third District neighbors dared to comfort the child related to criminals.

For a decade he had speeches for his brothers prepped and ready to go. All varying emotions from hatred to grief to the simple question of _why?_ However, life around him stopped any other words coming out except, “Where’s Kurt?”

They were...not in Utopia. That was certain, at least. Skinny trees bearing fluttering green leaves surrounded them. It also seemed Blaine awoke in a next to a small babbling brook. The water was shallow and the width was short enough he could easily make it over to the other side. The grass wasn’t flourishing and the sky wasn’t completely clear of clouds, but still, Blaine couldn’t help but feel his chest grow lighter. Everything here seemed so...natural. Pure. It was _bizarre_ , like stepping on to an alien planet.

“He went up river,” Cooper replied, nodding behind Blaine. “Just to check things out. I told him I could but, no siree, your hubby held his chin high and went on his way.” He chuckled. “He’s a brave one.”

Blaine smiled a bit. “Yeah, he is.”

His shoulder _hurt_. Like someone had shoved a knife in it and let the blade be. He gingerly reached with his right hand to touch it, and it stung greatly. He hissed, and dropped his head to the ground again.

“Yeah...bullets are a bitch,” Cooper said.

“How…” Blaine tried to say, still coming down from the pain. “Where are we?”

Cooper tilted his head, squinting at the sky. “Maybe...a mile from the border? Kurt turned it off right as you passed out. Which sucks for you, honestly. It was like seeing heaven’s pearly gates open for us, Blainey. We all crossed over the edge, and the choppers couldn’t even follow. They tried shooting us, but damn...Kurt was determined to get you to safety. Both of us carried you into this...forest place and got shelter from the bullets. Then Kurt just, kept going. Like he was trying to put as much distance between you and the city as possible.”

Blaine’s mouth quirked up at that. God, he _loved_ his husband.

“So, uh, this is our campsite…” Cooper went on, filling in the silence. “We have no food. Or clean water. But, we are not yet mauled by a wild animal, so I call that success!”

Blaine looked over at him. “Coop--”

“And me and Kurt sort of bonded! While you were blacked out and he was wrapping up your wound I told him all the embarrassing baby stories about you. By the way, his favorite was when you acted like a frog for a week--”

“Cooper.”

His brother coughed awkwardly, eyes to the side and wiping his palms on the legs of his pants (still those prison clothes Kurt scowled at as if they insulted his entire existence). After a moment, he said, “Uh, Blainey…” He coughed again, wetting his lips once before breaking out in a short laugh. “Sorry, it’s just so weird, isn’t it? I mean, look at you! You were what, eight when I last saw you? And now you’re all grown up.”

Cooper was eighteen when the Officers took him away. He was lankier, with a softer jaw and a clean shaven face. Nothing like this tall, scruffy twenty-eight year old today.

Suave, charismatic, confident Cooper fiddled with his hands, sighing and meeting Blaine’s eye. “I’m sorry that I left you...and Mom. Especially after Dad--It was a _total_ dick move on my part, I know, but...I couldn’t stay there. _Nobody_ should have to stay there, and after what Dad had said and then the hope that maybe...I dunno, I just _did_ it.”

Blaine stared at him for a moment, partially because he didn’t know what to say at first. It seemed that Cooper had been making speeches in prison as much as Blaine had at home.

“Hey, look,” Blaine said to him. “Neither of us are innocent here. I tried breaking into the Archives, so I fucked up just as much as you did.”

Cooper’s mouth twitched. “An Anderson trait.”

“But we’re both out now, and free.” He twisted his mouth. “It’s really weird when you think about it.”

“It’s fucking _amazing_.” Laughing, Cooper started to stand. “No cameras, no sensors, no nothing. We can say and do whatever the hell we want.” Then, he lifted his fists above his head, shouting up to the sky, “ _UTOPIA IS UTTER BULLSHIT!_ ”

“ _Cooper!_ ” First Blaine’s sides hurt from laughing, then his shoulder, and then he winced but his brother continued.

“ _THE JUDICIAL SYSTEM IS A FUCKING ABOMINATION!_ ”

“Cooper stop--I can’t _laugh--_ ”

“ _THE MAYOR CAN KISS MY--_ ”

“What _are_ you doing?!”

The two froze--Cooper with his fists still held high--as a certain someone wearing plain grey prison clothing (that Blaine knew he wouldn’t be caught dead in any other day) stomped to the campsite, his brown hair flopping over his forehead as he glared sternly at the two of them.

Cooper lowered his hands and pressed them together innocently. “Kurt, it is lovely to see you again.”

“You were supposed to be watching over him.”

“And I was! Blaine, tell him, I _was_.”

Blaine looked over at his husband and was unable to hide a smirk.

Kurt rolled his eyes before dropping to his knees beside Blaine, studying his shoulder as his hand touched Blaine’s lower arm. “How are you feeling?”

Blaine’s smile grew fonder. “Better now.”

Cooper made an over-dramatic ‘ _oh wow_ ’ and turned away from the scene, his hands up in defeat. Blaine paid no attention to him and instead watched Kurt examine him. His husband’s bottom lip sucked inward between his teeth, his eyebrows a tiny bit creased from worry.

Brave, brave, Kurt. Nothing about you is what anyone could ever expect.

“The river gets deeper that way,” Kurt said, nodding at the direction he came from. “About waist high. We could try to wash you up?”

“‘ _We_ ’ as in me and you, or you and Coop?”

“I am perfectly fine guarding the campsite, thank you!” declared Cooper with his back still facing them.

So Kurt helped him stand, one arm around his back, and they began the trek down the brook. Blaine’s steps were slow, given any wrong movements and his shoulder flared. Kurt was patient and kept asking if he was alright. Every time Blaine nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.

It’s strange still, for him, to exist in a place that was only depicted in books or paintings. Blaine vaguely remembered learning in school that during the war, before Utopia was formed, mankind basically wiped out all of nature. Their textbooks included photographs of barren deserts and charred woodlands. Yes, it said that healthy environments existed next to the border, but that was all thanks to the Mayor. Of course.

So after this thin forest, was there nothing? In that case, they’d have to stay here, right? But one had to remember Utopia had lied in the past. Perhaps...could there be more…?

Once at the spot Kurt mentioned before, he had Blaine sit on a boulder as he helped shed his clothes. Next came the makeshift wrap around his shoulder. The bullet had entered through the back, near his armpit and not high enough to hit the joint. The wrap was bloody and disgusting, and--Blaine noticed with raised eyebrows--was actually made by a torn strip from the seam of Kurt’s shirt.

Grimacing as Kurt slowly peeled away the cloth stuck to his skin, Blaine asked, “Are you getting naked too, honey?”

Kurt, being Kurt, shot him a pointed look and responded, “Your priorities _baffle_ me.”

First things first, “The river can’t be poisoned,” Kurt told him as he pushed down his own pair of pants (Blaine tried to listen fully and not obviously stare). “I saw...oh my god, Blaine, you’re not going to believe me but...I saw a _rabbit_ drinking out of it earlier. A rabbit! With brown fur and long ears and everything! It ran when I walked up but...it was _amazing_.”

Second, “It’s _freezing!_ ” Blaine yelped, his right hand holding Kurt’s squeezing as goose bumps rushed all over his body.

Kurt, already thigh-deep in the water and clearly shivering, said through gritted teeth, “This is for you, so _get in!_ ”

The current wasn’t as strong down here, but Blaine watched as the water pushed around the blockade that was his torso. He could feel slimy pebbles or rough sand under the soles of his feet, and he got used to the temperature after a minute. Were there fish under here?

His husband was not daydreaming like him, because Kurt let go of his hand to scoop water and splash it across his collarbone, rubbing it in and around his neck. “Oh. My god.” His eyes closed in bliss. “I am _so_ happy.”

Yet his eyes opened at Blaine’s snickering. “Don’t laugh at me! I haven’t showered in a couple days, I felt _gross_.”

“You’re never _gross_.”

“ _Yes_ I was, and so are you.” With that, Kurt snapped his fingers for Blaine to turn, and he gathered more water in his cupped hand.

Cold water was soothed across his arms and chest first, and it did feel wonderful to have days-old grime and sweat washed away. The bright sun sparkled off the surface, causing the light to almost dance. Kurt hesitated before cleaning the wound, but Blaine nodded in confirmation, and bit hard on his lip as Kurt brought the water around it.

Blaine asked, “Honestly, how is it?”

Chewing his lip at first, Kurt answered, “It’s...red? Really red. I told Cooper not to take the bullet out but...it looks deep.”

First, he scrubbed off the dried, crusty blood. Then he carefully worked around the area, not going for the exact spot for fear of infection.

After a while it wasn’t as agonizing. Blaine found a position where it more so settled in a dull throb than white-hot pain. Satisfied with that job, Kurt exhaled and glanced upward. “We need to do our hair next, don’t we?”

“Shall I go first?”

“ _No_. No...I will.”

Blaine expected his husband to continue his same method as before, but instead Kurt took Blaine’s good hand as support, holding tight as he plugged his nose between two fingers, and dropped under the surface.

He did, however, come up before Blaine had time to process this. Sputtering, Kurt pushed his bangs out of his eyes and gasped. “Yep. Still cold. _Don’t_ do that.”

Blaine burst out laughing. Who could have guessed his First District Match would be here right now, stark naked and diving under a little river beyond Utopia’s borders?

He suggested moving where it was deeper, so Kurt could have an easier time washing his hair. The current reached the middle of their chests now, persistently traveling around them. Blaine hummed when Kurt dribbled water atop of his curls and raked his fingers through them, and he caught a tiny smile playing on his husband’s lips.

It was so peaceful here, nothing but the trickling brook and the rustle of leaves above. Blaine took a moment, watching Kurt with his sopping wet hair focus on making sure every inch of Blaine’s was clean, before finally asking, “What was it?”

Kurt’s eyes flickered to his face. “What was what?”

“The code.”

Kurt seemed to take a moment to remember that no one could overhear them now (what a beautiful realization) and said to him softly, “My birthday.”

Surprised, Blaine’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

Kurt nodded. “Mhmm.” And his expression shifted as he fumbled to gather more water in his hands.

“What is it?”

“Oh--nothing, just,” he hesitated, abandoning the water and letting his shoulders drop. “Sam. And Finn. Do you think they’re…?”

“Oh, Kurt--no--”

“Blaine, the Officers...they couldn’t have gotten away. They’re still in the city, and the security couldn’t be off forever. They should’ve come with us, it’s _unfair_. And Isabelle...she can’t possibly be--”

“Kurt, it’s okay.”

“It’s not! We’re here and alive and because of me they’re probably--”

“No, stop.” Blaine’s hand found his elbow under the water, and he rubbed his thumb on the skin until Kurt looked at him. “They saved our lives, and we owe them everything for that. But they refused to come with, what more could we have done?”

Kurt shrugged, his chin wrinkled. “But _why_ would they have gone through all that trouble if they weren’t escaping as well?”

“Maybe it’s because a lot of people love you, Kurt.”

Kurt pursed his lips and gave him a _look_ , which only made Blaine grin and take his hand.

Brave, selfless husband. A shadow of stubble grew along his jaw, something Blaine had never seen before. Nothing as dramatic as Cooper’s beard, but still prominent enough it probably felt like sandpaper. Blaine was _intrigued_ by this, knowing Kurt cared about his appearance greatly. No razors meant no spotless skin.

(By god did Blaine really want to kiss him now…)

Yet, Kurt was playing with their linked hands and glancing around, wondering aloud, “It’s weird knowing not a single person is keeping track of us right now.”

Blaine blinked out of his haze, collecting himself to reply, “I know. But it’s also relieving, right?” He then smirked. “Remember that time you shouted, ‘ _fuck you_ ’?”

“Oh, my _god_.” Blush rose high on his cheeks and his head ducked away. “I did, didn’t I?”

“My, oh my,” Blaine teased, moving closer to his beautiful, bashful man as his good arm slid around Kurt’s torso. “Who would’ve guessed Kurt Anderson-Hummel had a _dirty mouth?_ ”

“Okay, first off,” Kurt pointed at him, clearly flustered at this point, “swearing once does not mean I have a... _dirty mouth_ …”

It was very difficult to remember that they came here to clean up after spending the last few days behind bars and then escaping firing choppers. But how could Blaine focus on such trivial matters when they were alone--truly, one hundred percent _alone_ \--and naked in a river as Kurt kept smiling with squinty eyes, dimples, and red-tipped ears?

“One can’t help but wonder,” said Blaine, his eyelids lowering slightly as his hand flattened against Kurt’s back, “what else we have been missing out on…”

He leaned forward, and Kurt responded like a memorized dance. Hands found themselves resting on Blaine’s neck, his head tilted just to the left and Blaine felt his breath brush against his lips until Kurt said, “Blaine,” and pushed him away a little.

Blaine opened his eyes fully just as Kurt told him, “We haven’t brushed our teeth in like, two days.”

Honestly, after that beat he felt like laughing out of pure joy. Of course those minor details hadn’t crossed his mind. The fact that they were alive and free was enough to charge adrenaline through his veins, and Blaine said in almost a rush of an exhale, “I don’t care,” before surging forward, crashing their mouths together.

....and Kurt’s worry had been spot on. What should have been a romantic, victorious kiss ended quickly in them both separating with wrinkled noses and pursed frowns. The taste had not been pleasant at all.

“Ick,” Kurt finally spoke, smacking his lips as if that would get rid of the aftertaste. “Gross. I told you, we’re both _gross_.”

As if an inconvenient roadblock was going to derail Blaine’s plans. He smirked, tightening his hold around his husband’s back, and said, “I guess I’ll have to kiss you elsewhere.”

They were so close under the water that Blaine felt Kurt’s chest stutter as lips pressed to the side of his neck. Gentle at first, just as he knew how Kurt liked it. His bad arm may have stayed still but the other one wrapped even tighter, fingertips gripping slightly as Blaine’s mouth opened and sucked at the stubble-covered skin.

Shining yellow sun against green earth and cool water, it had to be a dream. In what reality did Blaine have this perfection handed to him?

His gorgeous Kurt clung to him, careful of his shoulder, and panted harshly, his body against Blaine’s and therefore unable to hide any arousal from this. Blaine heard him bite back a groan when lips suckled near his ear, and Kurt tipped his head back, whining, “Blaine--”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered.

“Cooper...might come t-to check--”

“I don’t care,” Blaine repeated, kissing the skin harder.

Kurt whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut as he obviously tried to control himself. Maybe it’s something about a near-death experience that drove hormones crazy, because Blaine’s body reacted to this building intimacy quick enough. It didn’t quite help that his husband pressed even closer to him, if possible, and started shifting himself slightly upward, unconsciously beginning to grind his hips.

Already so lost in the haze, Blaine brought his mouth up to the shell of Kurt’s ear, the lower half of his body encouraging the rhythm, and exhaled out, “I love you.” He closed his eyes, the corner of his mouth brushing Kurt’s jaw. “I love you so much. And I felt like--like I never told you enough, like--”

“Shh,” Kurt breathed softer, fingers twining in Blaine’s hair. “I know you do. And I love you too, more than anything.”

What are they still doing standing there? Blaine should be yanking Kurt towards the bank of the river so he could properly have his way with him and worship every inch of his wonderful, incredible, heroic husband.

But everything screeched to a halt, because during Blaine’s urgency to lavish Kurt’s neck like a starving animal, he shifted his shoulder the wrong way. A sharp jolt like lightning tore him away, hissing through his teeth. Kurt let go of him at once, asking what was wrong with wide, scared eyes at his shoulder.

So, everything was not perfect. Not yet.

The ache calmed to the muted throb, but at that point the mood was gone. Kurt, still pink at the cheeks, notched his mouth up for a smile. “How about a rain check?”

Blaine could hear the leaves rustling again. Everything seemed slower, like time was running correctly again. His heartbeat thumped steadily now, finally. Perhaps it was the absence of each other for so long that charged that spontaneous--well, wait. Blaine did remember something that had been on his mind before, but he never had the chance to bring it up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He swallowed, meeting Kurt’s eye. “Back in the cell, before you opened the door...you, well, you wanted to--”

“Oh.” Here comes the blush again. “O-oh...that.”

“I mean, I was just wondering, because...that probably has the most surveillance in Utopia--”

“No, I was being dumb, I just…” Kurt paused, chewing his bottom lip as he stared downward from Blaine’s gaze, his fingertips distractedly fidgeting at his collarbone. “I--I didn’t know if it was going to work. I was scared that...that was the last moment I had with you and…” He sniffed. “I dunno. I knew it was stupid.”

“No,” Blaine’s good hand slid out from under the surface, grabbing both of his, “Oh, sweetheart, no. Look, our circumstances have not been in our favor recently, but I will promise you this,” he did his best to lift Kurt’s ring finger up and place a kiss on the knuckle, “I will happily accept that rain check.”

Kurt laughed. “So when your shoulder’s all better and Cooper’s off examining his own reflection in the river, we’ll have our chance?”

Chuckling along, Blaine rested his forehead against his husband’s. “Absolutely.”

As it turned out, exiting the water was just as cold as entering it. Kurt picked up his grey shirt from the grass and proceeded to tear a new wrap for Blaine. While he did this, Blaine hastily tried to tell him that it was okay, that they could use Blaine’s clothes since Kurt’s was already torn.

In which Kurt replied through clenched teeth and a deadly glare, “ _I don’t care, I_ hate _this shirt._ ”

Back at their little camp, Cooper was not transfixed by his own reflection in the water, but rather reclined against a tree, ankles crossed, and dropping small berries into his mouth. When the two of them approached, he grinned at them, showing stained red teeth. Lifting his cupped hand full of more berries, he declared, “Lunch is on me, boys!”

The berries--after speculation if they were indeed poisonous but Cooper claimed he saw some birds snacking on them before--were a bit sour but overall satisfied their hunger. Kurt had offered to feed them to Blaine himself, but Blaine assured him he was capable. It was then Cooper lifted an eyebrow, sat up, and asked, “Alright, you two, I’m expecting an epic story out of how you fell in love and all that. So, lay it on me!”

Daylight headed towards the west, and Kurt interrupted his own argument with Blaine on who’s the more romantic one (“It’s obviously _you_. See, he set up this whole indoor picnic for our anniversary--” “Excuse you! Cooper, he took me to an actual _park_ one time--”) when he noticed evening approaching. With a stiff spine he asked, “Should we move along? I mean, Cooper last night you said we shouldn’t stay in the same spot for long…”

“Yep.” Standing, Cooper swiped his palms on his pants as he squinted around. “Our best bet would be to head north.” He then pointed that way. “We’ll probably hit the end of this forest but at least we’re farther away from the city.”

Blaine’s head perked up. “And what’s beyond that?”

Cooper shrugged. “Wasteland. Desert. Possible pack of beasts waiting to eat us alive? Who knows! Let’s find out, shall we?”

* * *

The trees stopped almost just like the border of Utopia did, in a straight line. Night had fallen during their journey there, and it painted the sky in a vast blue-black color. Though it wasn’t hard to tell that once the three reached the forest’s edge, there wasn’t much afterwards.

Miles and miles of empty fields lay before them, showing not a hint of hillside or plant life or anything. Just nothing but thin grass and dry dirt. A wasteland indeed.

Kurt tensed beside Blaine, the fear trickling into his system again. After all they’ve done and gone through, after risking their lives and their friend’s lives they’re greeted with this? No...his mother did not sacrifice everything for an endless terrain of nothing.

He felt Blaine squeeze his hand, and Kurt tore his eyes away to see his husband smile. “It’s okay. We’ll think of another plan in the morning, yeah?”

Campsite number two was created, right on the line separating the trees from the open land. Cooper collected branches and fallen sticks, showing off a bit when he announced he knew how to make a fire. Blaine sat against a tree trunk, watching his brother with all the doubt in the world. Kurt stayed next to him cross-legged, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Why was nobody else worried that there was nowhere to go from here?

Well, they could head back to campsite number one. It had a canopy, food, and water to bathe in. But they couldn’t live there forever, could they? They were still only a couple miles from the city. Who’s to say the Mayor won’t send Officers out to find them? It’s no secret which direction they went.

Kurt just wanted to get as far away from Utopia as possible. But if they continued north...they would end up nowhere…

Cooper rubbed two sticks together frantically over his pile of broken branches and dead leaves. Blaine looked at him with pity and said, “Hey, Coop, we’ll be perfectly fine without--”

“No, no!” Cooper scrunched his eyebrows in concentration. “I’ve got this perfectly under control.”

“Maybe get some sleep?” Kurt suggested in a whisper before letting out the largest yawn.

Blaine grinned. “How about _you_ get some sleep?”

So Kurt was not awake when Cooper finally got the fire started. His head laid on Blaine’s thigh and he dozed off while his husband idly stroked his hair. He was not awake when Blaine fell asleep as well. He was not awake after the many hours Cooper stay up tending the fire and watching the clear stars up above. He was not awake when his brother-in-law eventually nodded off too.

He _was_ awake when he heard rumbling. It was so faint that one could mistake it for a far off thunder storm. But the sky was clear, and the noise could be heard growing louder.

Kurt blinked awake, sitting up and nudging his husband. It was still nighttime, and Cooper’s campfire was nothing but a flickering flame by now. But the rumbling continued, and Kurt tried to make out what on earth it could be.

A few notable aspects: this was not coming from the sky. It came from the north, across the miles of wasteland. There were no glaring red lights aimed at them but rather...two yellow ones.

“What is that?” Blaine whispered.

Kurt’s mouth hung open but Cooper, now joining the group, chuckled and pushed his hair away from his face. “No fucking way.”

“What?” Blaine asked, looking back and forth between them.

Kurt said nothing, his brain still too in shock. Carmen hadn’t even acknowledged it when he mentioned it. The concept seemed impossible, because there was no way that could be true…

Cooper, however, shook his head and grinned. “The Outsiders. The people who live beyond Utopia.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter? I'm not emotional, what are you talking about?

Kurt had heard about the “Outsiders” twice. Once, from his mother’s recordings, saying she hoped they would contact her soon. The other time from Blaine’s mother, who had rolled her eyes like they were a child’s fantasy. So while he knew little about ‘them’ he could rally up some facts: they were unknown, they were uncontrolled, and therefore had the very high chance of _not_ being friendly.

As the rumbling grew louder, Kurt scrambled to his feet, heart thundering in his chest. The lights attached to whatever that noisy thing was grew larger, and therefore brighter. It also blinded them from seeing what exactly was approaching them. He was scared and they were defenseless.

“Cooper,” he said. “Shouldn’t we hide?”

“What?!” Cooper stood as well, and the bright lights illuminating the right side of his body as he stared incredulous at Kurt. “Did you not hear me? They’re the--”

“Yes, I know, but they could be _dangerous--_ ”

“Are you crazy? They’re precisely the people we need to survive out here!”

“Uh, guys…” Blaine said from his spot on the ground.

“Think about _Blaine_. If they attack us he’ll be--”

“They’re going to help us!” Cooper shouted over the now deafening rumble.

“Guys!” Blaine said louder, but it was too late.

Kurt and Cooper turned away from each other only to shield their eyes from the blinding and _very_ close lights, which shone on all three of them. The rumble had stopped, the atmosphere almost eerily silent. It was as if two large eyes were boring down on them endlessly. Even though he tried, Kurt was unable to identify what was less than ten feet away from them, though he was unconsciously reaching towards his husband, ready at a moment's notice to _run_.

And then they shut off.

The world was thrown back to the pitch-black darkness of night, and Kurt’s vision turned spotty. He blinked, shaking his head as his eyes adjusted. Everything was so quiet yet his pulse slammed in his ears.

The _thing_ that had approached them from all the way up north was...an ancient vehicle of some sorts. It had four rather heavy-duty wheels, all grimy from mud and whatnot, and it was shaped oddly, like half of the back end was missing. But it still stared nose-first at them, like a patient beast eyeing its prey. Kurt continued reaching towards Blaine.

Then, a clanking noise emerged as someone inside the vehicle moved around, before popping their body through the open rooftop. Kurt couldn’t really identify who it was, but from the faint moonlight he could see this person was tall, and that the person who stood next was rather short.

“Well, what the hell do we have here?” asked the taller one, a female by the tone of voice. Though she sounded almost satirical about the situation, as if this business was just an annoyance in her schedule.

The shorter proceeded to click on a flashlight, with a gentler bulb, and Kurt could finally make out features.

So they were both women here. The taller one was definitely older, and had shortly cut blonde hair along with narrowed eyes and thin lips pursed in a (what he presumed) permanent frown. She examined the three of them with a bit of upturn in her nose, judging them on the spot.

Her friend was significantly younger, perhaps only a year or two below Kurt. She smiled at them toothily but impishly. Kurt wouldn’t go as far to call her _evil_ but she did look like something amusing was happening. Her hair was also blonde and stopped at her shoulders. The flashlight gleamed off her glasses.

With their silence, the shorter one piped up, “Looks like runaways, boss.”

“Yeah.” The taller one drummed her fingers on the metal vehicle. “Bunch of runaways who can’t hide a campfire.”

Cooper perked up in awe. “You noticed?”

She glared at him, but said, “Oh look, they speak. Okay, kiddos, let’s see if your vocabulary extends further. Who are you and what the hell are you doing out here?”

Kurt, however, took a step forward, squaring his jaw to ask, “I could ask _you_ the same thing--”

However, a sudden _bang_ and then the driver’s door flew open, and out came a third party, whipping out a gun and pointing it directly at Kurt’s head. “Stay back, pretty boy!”

Blaine and Cooper were shouting “ _Whoa! Whoa!_ ” while holding their hands up in innocence. Kurt stayed frozen in shock, eyes on the barrel of the, again, ancient weapon. It looked nothing like the Officer’s guns, where on earth had they acquired that?

“Calm _down_ , Lopez, they ain’t gonna fight us.”

“Well, _Sue_ ,” the armed woman replied, lifting her weapon away, “you never know. If they crossed over their border they must be dangerous on some level.”

“She’s got a point,” chimed in the shortest one.

“We weren’t violent,” Blaine said, voice cracking when all attention turned to him. “We escaped through an override code.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” asked the tallest--the one called Sue.  

“Yes,” Kurt nodded, not even flinching when they met his eye. “My--my mother programmed it. She...her name was Elizabeth Hummel. Did you know her?”

Something shifted in Sue’s hard expression, Kurt caught it even with the limited light. As if she were puzzled and then struck with realization, she kept her gaze on Kurt. Then, she asked in a steady voice, “What is your name, kid?”

“Kurt Anderson-Hummel.”

Sue sputtered, her eyes blowing wide as she stared in disbelief. “Excu-- _what_ did you say?”

“It’s getting late, Sue…”

“Lopez, you are here to _drive_ and shoot when necessary, so will you _pipe down--_ ”

“Can you help us?” Blaine asked, still at his spot by the tree. He looked so helpless, leaning against the trunk with his shoulder all wrapped up. His big, pleading eyes only added to it. “Please? We--we don’t know where to go from here.”

Exhaling through her nose, Sue closed her mouth tight, glancing between him and Cooper and Kurt. Finally, she slapped her palm against the metal and said, “Get in the truck.”

Their group exhaled a sigh of relief. As the two helped Blaine up and the engine started, Cooper turned to Sue and asked excitedly, “Where are you taking us, if I may ask?”

Her eyebrow arched at him. The three had climbed into the open back part of the truck, which Kurt didn’t really understand the design purposes behind it, but he heard Sue reply, “To our own lil’ refuge. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of runaways like you there. You’ll fit right in.”

With that, the blazing lights turned back on, and thankfully everyone was seated when the vehicle took off and spun back the direction it came. Kurt, with a hand gripping to his husband’s, witnessed the small forest and the city of Utopia shrink faster than he ever thought would happen.

They were safe, for now. At least they were driving away from the border, and this Sue character (whether Kurt could trust her or not) knew his mother. Perhaps he’ll get more answers. Perhaps they’ll get more help.

The terrain was bumpy and the floor wasn’t exactly comfortable, but Kurt’s hair whipped around his face and he felt a smile stretch on his lips. For a moment, he could let his heart soar. For a moment, he could revel in the fact that they were about to be truly free.

* * *

Muted yellow sunrise just barely brought rays over the horizon when the truck had reached what Sue had called the ‘refuge.’

Blaine had fallen asleep again as Cooper kept watching the scenery zip by. There wasn’t much to look at, really, but the image made Kurt feel almost sad. He held on to his husband’s hand, even as he slept, and watched with knees pulled up to his chest as remnants of the past flew by.

Well, Utopia hadn’t lied about the wasteland. Acres of dry ground or patchy grass fields stretched out forever. Behind the truck a large dust cloud always kept them company. Rare trees had either fallen over lack of nutrients or stayed skinny as a bones. The sky was cloudy, especially the further they traveled. Not a hint of blue between the soft gray.

Humankind _thrived_ here once. This had been a place of prosperity. What does it take to fall from that?

When the truck began to slow, that’s when Kurt tore his gaze away and looked to the front, where apparently the three ladies sat comfortable this whole ride. Cooper was one step ahead of him, squinting ahead at their destination, “Holy shit, is that a _town?_ ”

Blaine woke when Kurt hurried to get a better view. He craned his head over the front of the truck, scrunching his eyebrows when he realized Cooper wasn’t wrong. “How?” he asked. “It’s been...over a hundred years since--”

“I _know!_ ” Cooper grinned, ecstatic.

They actually drove _into_ this…‘town’, if that’s what Cooper called it. Honestly, it made Third District seem somewhat decent. Kurt gaped at these new surroundings, unsure whether to believe he was crazy or he was having one hell of a dream.

Main Street seemed to be all that was left. The buildings, all connected together like a woven quilt, were certainly not in the best shape. Paint had faded long ago, boards were rotten or broken or just plain missing. A rectangle structure made of bricks was missing a chunk from one of its sides, and a majority of its glass windows were busted. Some skeletons of awnings still remained. Too many lamp posts were snapped in half. It was like the ghost of a town.

This road was bumpy as well, and Lopez drove slowly to avoid potholes. The truck jostled anyway, making Blaine hiss and grab his shoulder. Kurt’s attention went to him immediately, and he dropped down beside him, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Blaine bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, still holding his shoulder.

As the truck braked to a halt, Kurt raised his head, ready to yell to the women that Blaine needed help, but he caught someone running towards them on the cracked street. Another girl, with yellow hair swinging in a ponytail.

“Santana!” the new girl called out, slowing her pace when she arrived, glancing at the bed of the truck. “Who…”

Sue exited the truck first, jerking her head the same direction. “One of them’s injured, Blondie.”

Immediately, this girl jumped into action. She helped Cooper lower Blaine down from the truck and wrapped an arm around his back. Blaine groaned and clenched his teeth from the movement.

Kurt didn’t even have time to ask what was going to happen when ‘Blondie’ began leading Blaine to one of the broken-down buildings, saying to him in a comforting voice, “Don’t worry, I’ll let you have the comfy mattress.”

“Who was that?” Kurt asked Sue while he stood tall in the truck still. Not looking at him, Sue seemed to be scanning the area until the shortest one went up beside her, handing her a pair of sunglasses. Sue accepted them, slipped them on, and sighed in satisfaction.

She muttered, “Thank you, Becky,” and her friend grinned in delight. Cooper had hopped down shortly after. Lopez had left with her gun slung along her back, heading away from the scene. Sue crossed her arms, finally facing Kurt, and said, “You’re allowed to get out, you know.”

“Do you mind explaining to me what this place is--?!”

“Should I go wake the others, boss?” The shortest--Becky--interrupted.

“Might as well. Have Tina get these three better clothes to wear. Ask the twins if we have enough food to spare them meals, too.”

Becky saluted, and hurried off. After she was gone, Sue went back to Kurt, obviously waiting for him to jump down. He glared at her, clearly not enjoying whatever game she was playing. After all he had been through these last days he deserved some straight answers.

“ _Wow_ ,” Cooper said, beaming where he kept turning in a circle, completely fascinated by their new surroundings. “This place is _magnificent_.” He then beamed at Sue, reaching to take her hand and placed a kiss on it. “ _Thank you_ , so much.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sue slid her hand back, not swayed by his charm _at all_. If her shades weren’t covering them, Kurt would’ve assumed her eyes were scanning him up and down in total distaste.

The accessory didn’t exactly match her entire outfit, Kurt noticed. Her black combat boots reached to her knees and were smeared with mud. The baggy, cargo pants had multiple pockets, all bulging with unknown items (that too, was stained). Around her waist and scrunching up her green jacket was a thick belt, also bearing more pouches. Although by the style he guessed these were meant to hold bullets or weapons.

“What’s your name, sonny?” Sue asked.

“Cooper Anderson. The _eldest_ Anderson son.”

“Ah.” She nodded slowly. “Anderson and Hummel.” She frowned at Kurt. “Back again.”

“Will you _please_ tell us what’s going on?” Kurt asked.

“Get _off_ the truck, porcelain doll, and I will.” She cocked her head. “I forgot your first name already. I’m just going to call you Porcelain from now on.”

Reluctantly, Kurt grabbed the edge and jumped off, his feet hitting the pavement. He glanced at the direction Blaine disappeared off to--some busted up shop with faded words spelling _Coca Cola_ above the window. Should he had followed as well? What were they doing to him?

“He’s going to be fine,” Sue told him, her voice a little softer. “Brittany’s the best doctor we could ask for.”

“So this is a community?” Kurt asked her, eyes still on the shop.

She huffed. “Not enough people to make a community. We’re doing what we can to survive. Everyone brings something to the table.”

He swallowed, processing all this. “And...you said they’re all runaways, right? Everyone here has escaped Utopia?”

Twisting her mouth, she considered this before saying, “Eh, not exactly.” Then, she took a step forward, gesturing for them to follow. “C’mon, you two. We’ll go to my office and I can answer everything on your minds.”

* * *

Cooper was correct. Bullets _were_ a bitch.

Blaine currently resided in the ‘hospital’, or he assumed it was their makeshift hospital. Whatever tile remained was a sort of black and white checkered pattern. Busted teal-blue cabinets lined the wall, holding bottles or sacks of supplies. The walls were striped, making a pattern of teal and white. The front window was extremely dusty, though the rest of the area looked pretty well-kept.

But, the blonde girl had sat Blaine down on one of the beds in the middle of the room--something he assumed wasn’t intended for the original shop design. Many more steel bedframes were pushed aside, none with a clean or even complete mattress to go along with it. Then, she asked him to take off his shirt so she could unwrap the strips of fabric. The cool air left shivers across his bare chest.

“What’s your name?” Blaine asked, watching her reveal his wound.

She smiled at him, so bright in such a cheerless place. “Brittany. And what’s yours?”

“Blaine.”

“I like your hair. It reminds me of broccoli.”

Her personality was quite a shift from dealing with Sue’s and her gang for how many hours. She wore a beige cargo jacket with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a soft pink shirt underneath, though sweat and grime covered both. He wondered how long exactly she had been wearing them consecutively--days, weeks? Her shorts had large pockets, and she whipped out a pair of surprisingly clean plastic gloves out of one, motioning for Blaine to lay on his stomach to examine his shoulder further.

 _These are not people who are here to hurt you, or they would’ve done that already_ , he reminded himself as he tried his best to breathe steadily and not tense up. His cheek pressed against this old yet tolerable mattress (it was still better than the prison’s, that’s for sure).

Brittany’s gloved hand rested flat between his naked shoulder blades. “Just breathe,” she said, wiping some sort of disinfectant on his wound.

With fists balled up, sweat formed along his spine. Brittany was being very careful, but she made the statement that she needed to remove the bullet for it to heal. And _that_ , in his opinion, did not sound fun.

This was not a Utopia hospital. The price for that meant no anesthetics.

And he thought _being_ shot was the worst part. Even though Brittany was incredibly focused and precise on her actions, when the tweezers entered the wound and began its work, Blaine bit back a scream and did all in his power not to jerk away.

Honestly, he’s glad Kurt didn’t join. He did not wish his husband to witness him going through this burning, _searing_ pain.

And even though it felt like so, it did not last forever. Brittany dislodged the bullet and he heard it clatter on a tin tray. Once that happened, utter relief washed over him. He let his mouth hang slack as he sucked in air.

“Sorry, sorry,” Brittany apologized, pressing new gauze to his shoulder and wrapping it up more neatly.

“‘S’okay,” Blaine exhaled, just glad it was over.

“I’ll get you the painkillers in a second, but in the meantime, I have, uh...oh! I have toothpaste strips!” she said, helping him sit up again and then rushing over to a cabinet. “You can take one, and even give another to your friends! Like, we have hundreds, see?”

When she brought them over, and Blaine wrinkled his brow at the sight. His mind sort of stopped its reeling to focus on the mint-green colored rectangles that reminded him of gum. “That’s toothpaste?” he asked.

“Mhmm!” She nodded, lifting one up for him. Getting the picture, Blaine cautiously opened his mouth, letting her place one on his tongue.

Well, it _tasted_ like toothpaste. When he closed his lips and let the new sensation settle, the rectangle actually dissolved into bubbly foam right in his mouth.

“And...uh,” Brittany looked around for more things, her ponytail whipping from side to side. “I have bars of soap no one has used yet? Except, you might not want to wash up right now. Oh! I have Vaseline!” She brought over a small jar of it, presenting it proudly.

“Honestly, Brittany,” he told her, a bit amused by her gifts now. “I think you’ve done more than enough to help me.”

She smiled crookedly. “I just...I feel bad. We haven’t had a new runaway in months, you know. None of them were in bad of a shape as you, though. Bruises and scratches, yeah. If someone had used a gun on them, they wouldn’t have made it past their border.” Her head tilted. “You must be lucky.”

Luck, maybe. Although was it luck that brought Blaine to place he was today? Lucky he got Matched with Kurt. Lucky Kurt found the secrets of their parents. Lucky all those people were willing to help them escape. It didn’t feel like luck, yet Blaine wasn’t sure he believed destiny had anything to do with it.

He exhaled, looking at his knees before back up at her. “Thank you, for doing this.”

And Brittany grinned, toothy and bright again. Hey, maybe the outside world wasn’t completely scary after all.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, putting possibly the two most stubborn people in a room together was not the best idea.

Sue’s “office” was inside another one of those rundown buildings, with wooden floorboards worn from age and the green wallpaper ripped in various locations. She must have found a solid wooden desk and dragged it to the middle, because it certainly did not match the rest of this antique diner-like interior.

She reclined back in a moth-eaten chair (sunglasses off, mind you), a finger on her chin like she was deciding whether to speak first or wait for Kurt to say something. Kurt, however, was stuck in the same state. His arms were crossed tightly as he stood in front of her, refusing to take a seat like she offered. Cooper, however, didn’t hesitate one bit and now laid in one of those striped booths, feet up and looking like he was about to nap any second now.

“Where the hell did you get those clothes?” Sue asked, breaking the silence and nodding at his torn prison shirt.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Kurt made the decision not to reply with sarcasm and stated, “You said you had answers.”

“Well, I don’t exactly know your questions, Porcelain.”

“Who are you?!” His raised voice made Cooper stir. “Why are you in this forgotten town? Are you even from Utopia? Are you the Outsiders who knew my mom? What is going on?!”

She held out a palm. “Alright, lower your enthusiasm, kid. Shall I start from the beginning?” When he didn’t answer she took that as a yes and added, “Would you like to maybe sit down now?” His glare, however, she took as a no.

“So I know you're...confused and agitated, and that’s common for a runaway. You just left home and now you’ve been thrust into this new ‘community,’ as you named it. It’s weird. There’s no cameras clocking your every movement and no strict orders on how things run.” Sue tilted her mouth. “You’re scared. It’s natural.”

His fingers twitched. “I’m not scared.”

“Sure you’re not, angel face. But, to start with your concerns, my name is Sue Sylvester. I am not the Mayor, but I do run things around here. You may call me Sue, Ms. Sylvester, or my personal favorite, boss.” She smiled at that. “Becky is my right hand girl. You got problems? Answer to her or me. Preferably me, but I trust that girl with my life.”

He paused for a moment, and twisted his mouth. “What if I don’t want to follow your orders?”

“I don’t give a damn what you do, then. What I care about, Porcelain, is _survival_. My group works together to guarantee that.” She threw up her hands and crossed her legs. “But if you don’t want that, fine! Get out of here! Go trek the mountains, I don’t care.”

“Everyone in your ‘group,’” he continued, “escaped from Utopia?”

“Well, not _your_ Utopia.” Her hands folded on her lap. “Here’s a history lesson for you, kiddo. The United States fucked up. Ninety-eight percent of the population,” she snapped her fingers, “ _gone_. Either from slaughtering each other or the government’s nuclear weaponry. Whatever. The remaining--”

“Came together to build Utopia, I _know_.”

“Not _just_ your Utopia. _Dozens_ of Utopias. All in different parts of the country. Most of them with the same idea on how to govern but, you know, they were creative with their rules. You met Brittany, the doctor fixing up your husband. _Her_ Utopia assigned everything from birth. From your job to your spouse to how long you were going to live.”

“That’s awful,” said Kurt.

“Oh, so yours was any better?” she asked him.

When he didn’t respond, Sue continued, “So these kids escape, I take them in. I, for one, am fortunate enough to not have been born inside borders. My parents were Outsiders, as were their parents, and their parents as well. I continue their legacy.”

“And this forgotten town is your hideout?”

“Just one of them,” she said. “We’ve relocated many times on our journey north.”

“North?”

She grinned widely. “ _Freedom_ , my sweet Porcelain. We’re going past the US border.”

Kurt frowned. “And how are you gonna do that?”

“Don’t be snippy. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

He almost pinched his nose, but instead Kurt exhaled, looking down at his feet and watching the toe of his shoe drag along the old floorboards. “You knew my mom?” he finally asked, voice clearer than he expected.

It was a while before, “Yes. Elizabeth was a nice gal. By some miracle her radio signal reached us. Our group back then gave her and her partner all the information we knew about hacking monorails and decoding the border. They were... _elated_ about joining us. In exchange they managed to sneak supplies to us.” Sue cocked her head. “You said your last name was Anderson-Hummel?”

“Yes.”

“But…” Her eyebrows lowered. “Her and Michael didn’t marry, correct?”

Kurt sighed. “No. I married Blaine, Michael’s son.”

“Huh.”

Cooper snored loudly from his spot, and Sue raised her eyebrows at him before saying to Kurt, “If you stay, we can get you guys into a proper living space. Some runaways already claimed empty shops as their own, but I think there was an old hotel in this town that has some rooms still intact.”

“If we stay?”

“Well, like I said, you’re free to go whenever.”

Whether he’d admit it aloud or not, Sue was right, this entire shift _was_ weird. It’s weird because he did have a choice, but this authority figure did not treat it like life or death. What if he was having this same conversation, but with Carmen? Would she be at ease with his power of free will?

He met Sue’s eyes. “I think I’d like to talk with my husband first.”

She simply shrugged. “Fine, whatever. Go find Becky, she’ll take you to your new residency. And take the handsome brother with you, I do not need him _drooling_ on my furniture.”

Turning away, Kurt did actually crack a smile at that.

* * *

Otherwise from the distorted reflection through the diagonal crack, the small mirror did its job fine. He watched himself bring the blade to his jaw with steady hands, slowly dragging it across the skin and watching the tiny hairs fall like snowflakes.

Sue hadn’t lied--this old ‘hotel’ was stable enough that Kurt could sleep there without worrying about the ceiling caving in. It had only been a block away from the area of town where they first parked the truck. Becky told him--as she helped carry his new supplies--that the sole reason none of the runaways wanted to stay here was because it was that far away. He didn’t mind, he could use the space.

Hotels, he remembered from his history classes, were constructed as a temporary home for travelers. The particular room he was in had this blue floral wallpaper on all four walls with some of the corners peeling off. Broken blinds hung from the window opposite of the door. A bed sat in the center, the mahogany frame still in one piece, and the rather stiff-looking mattress on top of that.

Funny enough, he felt safer in this room than he had in any other place these last few days.

As he brought a towel to his clean-shaven face, a knock came from the door and Kurt turned just in time to see a certain someone with his dark hair still an unruly mess, but also out of that hideous prison outfit and in denim jeans along with thick hiking boots and a navy blue jacket over a tan sweater.

Kurt lowered the towel and smiled. “Hey, stranger.”

A duffel bag was slung over his mostly-cheerful husband. Kurt guessed it had most of the necessities Becky had given him--soap, blanket, pillow, sleeping bag, Band-Aids, toilet paper. Just to name a few. Blaine didn’t look exhausted, but almost content. The shoulder where his wound was bulged a bit under his clothing--new wrappings. They took care of him.

Kurt had gotten used to Blaine’s un-gelled hair at his point, but...that beard. He sighed, lifting the razor and asking, “Need help cleaning up?”

A glance at the blade then back to Kurt’s face, Blaine let his bag thump to the floor as an answer.

“How are you feeling?” Kurt asked once his husband sat at the edge of the bed, hands between his knees as he looked up at Kurt. The nightstand held the bowl of water that was brought when Kurt requested shaving essentials. Yeah, _clean_ water. He had a canteen full of it next to his own duffel bag. Considering he chugged it all within seconds, he should probably ask for a refill.

“ _Immensely_ better,” Blaine told him, eyes following where Kurt began spreading soap across his jaw. “Brittany removed the bullet and gave me these little pills to ease the pain. She said I needed to take it easy for a while. You’d like her, she’s very nice.”

His mouth quirked up as he cleaned the blade with the towel. “I’m sure I would. She saved your life, after all.” Before Blaine could respond, Kurt brought the razor to his cheek. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t stab me.”

Kurt pursed his mouth to hold back a laugh. Then, he steadily swiped the edge along Blaine’s skin, his other hand keeping his chin tilted up. It was very quiet, very calm. Unreal, given they were running for their life a few days before.

Blaine glanced sideways as Kurt cleaned the razor again. “Where’s Coop?”

“Different room,” Kurt answered. “I told him he was more than welcome to join us, but he dumped his stuff off in the room across from us and fled back into town. I think he wants to meet everyone and become best friends.”

“Have you met everyone yet?”

Kurt’s heart thumped off-beat. Sue had mentioned multiple people, some he couldn’t put a face to. How many runaways where there? “No, I haven’t.”

“Brittany said every night, everyone gathers in ‘town square’ for a bonfire and dinner. She said we're invited to come.”

Instead of responding, Kurt sighed and brought the blade up again, finishing his husband’s shaving.

When all the soap was wiped clean and Kurt laid eyes on Blaine’s bare face, his breath caught. He looked so...young. Sure, there were slight bruises here and there but, Kurt was suddenly reminded that they both were only eighteen. Eighteen and discovering their parents were rebels, learning their government was a lie, and now venturing into unknown territory.

So much had changed since they met. Wasn’t it just yesterday they moved in together, shuffling around awkwardly in each other’s presence? A First District Matched with someone from Third, the _scandal_ (their problems seemed so simple back then). Blaine had proposed plans on getting a dog (a cute fluffy one, Kurt remembered). It didn’t seem like that long ago, when Kurt’s heart fluttered with nerves over his first kiss. First time. First love. Only love.

As the towel lowered in Kurt’s hand, Blaine took notice of the expression shift on his face. “What is it?”

Kurt’s eyes flickered back to the present, and he relaxed. “I’m just,” he fiddled with the open collar on Blaine’s new jacket, “very grateful that I’m here, with you, right now.”

Against all odds, against fate and the universe pushing and resisting their lives ever colliding, they were together. That, Kurt decided, was nothing short of a miracle.

His husband grinned and said, “I have something for you.” He nodded over his shoulder. “In my bag. Britt gave me a _ton_ of them.”

It was the strangest gift Kurt ever received. Blaine said they were ‘toothpaste strips’ and Kurt had to place one in his mouth to believe him. Suddenly, days of stale breath was replaced with minty freshness. Kurt’s eyes widened and Blaine laughed.

Amazing, how such little things bring so much joy.

They had tossed their sleeping bags and pillows onto the mattress, and yeah, this was no First District home, but Kurt had to smile, because this was his and Blaine’s bed, given to them both on equal grounds. Oh god, what else was different now? No curfew. No vital signs to send in. It’s still such a shock to gather and accept. They could...do _anything_ now…

Blaine was adjusting his blanket neatly in his spot, mouth pouted slightly in concentration. Did he know how goddamn delicious he looked…?

Hurriedly, Kurt crawled across the bed to Blaine, and his husband turned just in time to meet Kurt’s surging lips. This was vastly different from their kiss in the river. No scratchy cheeks, no wet slide, and a taste of minty toothpaste, thank you god.

His hands either fisted in Blaine’s jacket or smoothed across his neck and into his hair, tugging him closer to deepen the kiss. Their mouths opened together, Blaine quickly catching on that the intent was _not_ chaste, and Kurt moaned unashamed, lifting himself higher on his knees.

Tell him last year that he’d be kissing his rogue Match in the middle of an abandoned hotel on Outsider territory after breaking the law and escaping prison, wearing a hand-me-down blue sweater and used jeans with tears by the ankles. His past-self would have screamed.

Blaine’s palm snuck to the small of Kurt’s back the same time he pushed him backwards, landing Kurt on the bed with their kiss still heated. Kurt managed out, “Your shoulder,” which Blaine replied quickly, “‘M okay,” before pressing their lips together again.

It wasn’t like they had been through a dry spell. Yes, the events leading up to now wasn’t in favor of their private, intimate lives. When had they last had sex? He couldn’t exactly recall, not with Blaine’s solid body against his, their lips moving like they were drowning, and this was their only source of oxygen. Maybe it’s the knowledge of newly attained freedom that sparked Kurt’s urge. Maybe it’s the fact that, for the first time in forever, he wasn’t utterly worried.

(Plus, Blaine’s mouth tasted _so_ good now).

“I--” Kurt exhaled, fingers twisted in Blaine’s curls and eyes still closed. He felt his husband continued to kiss the corner of his lips as he spoke. “I wish you could,” his new vocabulary felt kind of strange to say, “f-fuck me.”

Although awkward to his ears, Blaine brokenly groaned on top of him, incredibly affected by the word as his eyes shut tight and his hips unintentionally rolled down. “Oh my _god_ , Kurt--”

Even if he totally interrupted the mood, Kurt had to giggle. “So me swearing turns you on?”

Looking up through his eyelashes, Blaine gave Kurt this _look_ that was between amusement and determination, and he let out this low _growl_ before diving in for another deep kiss.

Fingers were hesitant at his jacket. Blaine had said the pain was gone for now, but Kurt didn’t want to made it worse. Thankfully, Blaine helped shrug it off, and then his shirt and white tank top underneath. Those ended up piled on the floor. Kurt saw the new bandage, all pristine white and wrapped properly, not a drop of red in sight. Emotion clogged his throat for a moment, so he turned back to his husband’s face and smiled as he kissed him, his hands now wandering to the zipper of his pants.

“In my bag,” Blaine said at one point, their mouths like magnets even after Kurt wore nothing but his socks. “Britt gave it to me--I think I can use it to…”

When his voice trailed off, Kurt opened his eyes fully. Though by the look on Blaine’s face he smirked and said, more confidently this time, “To fuck me?”

He was laughing when Blaine kissed him needily again.

The Vaseline came in a plastic jar, and Blaine set it beside the water bowl when he had an ample amount on his fingers. Kurt may or may not have been grabbing at his bicep and the nape of his neck, face screwed and eyes closed as he felt the first enter. He bit harshly down on his bottom lip, tilting his head back against the crooked sleeping bag.

Deviants on the run, now joined with runaway nonconformists, and currently about to make love in a home that hadn’t seen human life in a century. Oh, Kurt, look at how your life came to be…

Two fingers, then three in like expert practice. Kurt whined, nails digging into Blaine’s scalp as his legs fell open wider. “Please,” he said. “C’mon, honey, please.”

“A-are, are you ready?”

A gentleman first even in times of hasty, wild arousal. Kurt peeked open an eye to see his husband's genuinely concerned face.

_Blaine Devon Anderson-Hummel. I did not cross our city’s border to have you question my needs._

Still, to answer him, Kurt reached down between their heaving chests and found Blaine’s flushed cock, tugging it and witnessing his facial expression drop completely.

And again, a smirk played on Kurt’s mouth, the opportunity too perfect to pass up. “Fuck my ass, baby,” he whispered.

If Blaine was a mess before, he certainly was wrecked at this point.

It’s hesitant, at first, considering Blaine’s not trying to put too much weight on his wounded shoulder. When it’s difficult for him to line up, Kurt used his bracketed legs to roll Blaine on his good side, both of them facing each other on the mattress. Grinning only a bit coyly, Kurt hiked a leg along Blaine’s back, scooting them closer, and touching his bandages lightly. “Like this?”

Sweat-damp curls danced across his forehead when Blaine nodded, crashing a kiss to his lips as he brought himself in, filling Kurt up in a surprisingly steady motion. Biting Blaine’s bottom lip, Kurt groaned.

They both gasped at the friction and stuttered for an exhale when Blaine bottomed out. Their bodies were incredibly warm, especially pressed so close in their embrace. Kurt ignored it. He pushed aside the sticky sweat and hot breath and wrapped a fist around his own cock, saying in a single breath, “Guess we’re cashing in that rain check, huh?”

Blaine chuckled, eyes squinting and shaking his head.

The position called for a gradual grind. Blaine gripped his hands around Kurt’s waist and back, expression furrowed in pleasure and concentration. Kurt helped as well, rolling his hips in meeting the best he could. The climb was a steady rise, but their pulse never slowed. The heat didn’t fade.

“T-that’s it, right there--oh, _god_.” Kurt’s eyes squeezed shut the same time he yanked Blaine in for a kiss. He missed and sort of mouthed at his freshly-shaven jaw. Oh, well.

“So good,” Blaine said, voice gone rougher now. “I missed this so much. I missed being with you and, hearing the _noises_ you make, _Kurt--_ ”

Right on cue, Kurt stuttered out a cry when the angle hit just right.

Sex had never been _just_ sex between them. It’s been deeper, meaningful, a way to show the other person love. But this, right here, was unlike any other time. Kurt felt looser, wilder, and absolutely _fearless_. Enclosed in Blaine and panting in the limited space between their bodies, he felt like he could finally breathe. The world was sharper, clearer, everything was right. He felt _alive_.

He had bitten the apple, and he had no regrets.

Blaine’s thrusts became quicker, uneven, and then he stuttered as he came. His forehead pinched and his head bowed. It looked as if his voice stopped before leaving his gaping mouth. Clenching around him, Kurt petted his hair through it, exhaling, “Yeah, yeah, c’mon…”

He’s heaving when he looked up at Kurt. “Are you close?”

Nodding, Kurt just continued to roll down, jerking his cock fast. Blaine did his part, lifting a hand to cup his neck, kissing his mouth and then nipping at his jaw. He smelled like mint and sex and the outdoors. Kurt closed his eyes and gasped out his husband's name when he toppled over the edge.

The abandoned hotel had a musty aroma to it. Rich sunlight filtered through the broken blinds, casting yellow bars on the floorboards. Kurt breathed in evenly until his world stopped shaking and his mind matched the solid and steady room around him. He looked at his husband, swiping a thumb across his smooth cheek before trailing fingertips down his neck and collarbone, ending on the bandages. “You okay?”

Blaine swallowed air and smiled, warm like the sun. “Life couldn’t be better.”

* * *

When nighttime fell, the sky went utterly black, not a star in sight. Blaine figured it was the clouds clogging the view, although he secretly wondered how different the stars looked out here. Maybe there was no difference at all.

The bonfire Brittany mentioned was going on in the center of main street, the light unmistakable anywhere. Rotten boards from shops and broken branches fueled the tall and cackling flames. Seven people, the runaways, sat around it on crates or blankets, chatting or warming their food.

Blaine and Kurt approached them cautiously hand in hand. He recognized some people--Brittany sitting by Santana and laughing, Becky munching on some sort of meat. Cooper was already there, changed into new clothes as well and cleanly shaven, talking animatedly to two younger Outsiders, siblings by the look of them.

Brittany noticed them and waved her hand high, causing other heads to turn. “Hey! Sit by us, you guys!”

The fire was so warm and welcoming when the two seated, crossing their legs and keeping their hands linked. Santana raised an eyebrow at them, probably still evaluating whatever opinion she had. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail, and the shotgun rested at her side. Blaine saw holders for knives and guns strapped to her belt. Her turtleneck was black and her jeans were re-stitched around the knees. A scar sliced her right eyebrow.

Brittany, ever the cheerful, handed them both sticks with meat on them. “Mason and Madison caught them today. Hope you’re hungry for cooked bird.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, accepting his own and his nose wrinkling slightly.

“How’s your shoulder?” Brittany asked Blaine.

He nodded once. “Better. Thank you so much, again.”

“So, fellas,” Santana drawled, speaking for the first time since they arrived. “What sort of misadventure brought you outside your borders?”

Blaine frowned. “The same reason you did…?”

She scoffed. “I’m sure your city was a golden paradise compared to ours.”

“Yeah,” another girl poked her head around Brittany. She was Asian, with streaks of blonde in her black hair. With the puzzled looks on the two’s faces, she added, “I’m Tina, by the way. I’m in charge of the supplies around here. _Anyway_ ,” she scooted closer to them, arms around her bent knees. “Where did you come from? See, I’m from the Utopia where Illinois used to be.”

“Santana and I are from the Kentucky one,” Brittany told them, jutting her thumb at the other girl.

“So your Utopia was…different than ours?” Blaine could tell it was weird for Kurt to ask. Especially since they’ve been told their whole lives that their Utopia was all that was left of civilization. “How?”

Santana was staring at the fire when she said, “They planned out our entire life the second we’re born. One blood sample and, _voilà_ , there’s your skill set, your death date, and which other citizen your genetics match up with. It _sucked_.”

Brittany’s mouth tilted. “Santana and I weren’t Matched together.” She linked their pinkies, and Santana’s shoulders relaxed. “They always Match boys and girls together. It doesn’t matter what you love, the Mayor just cared about repopulation.”

“That’s...disgusting,” Blaine said.

Santana glanced over at him. “We thought so too, that’s why we escaped.”

“And,” Kurt looked over at Tina, “what was yours like?”

Tina smiled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Basically our neighborhoods were divided into whatever job you had. The teachers lived together, the janitors, the Officers. The ‘higher-up’ your job was, like the doctors or the senators, the better perks Utopia gave you. And whatever job your parent’s had...that’s what job you got. No choice, not even a test to see if you _had_ those skills.”

Blaine didn’t feel hungry anymore. “Wow…”

“By the way,” Tina nodded across the bonfire, where Cooper was now most likely describing their epic escape across the border to the twins, his hand gestures grand and exaggerated. “Is that one of you guy’s brother?”

Kurt answered, “He’s Blaine’s. I mean, technically he’s my brother-in- _law…_ ”

Tina’s brown eyes lit up. “Because he’s _so_ hot.”

When Blaine turned his bewildered expression to his husband, expecting to find a similar reaction, he saw Kurt was...blushing. And when Blaine’s eyes bulged Kurt just nudged his ribs, hissing, “Oh, shut up. I’ve never seen him without the beard.”

The fire began dying down, and at that point the twins shuffled over to join them. Blaine remembered Brittany calling them Madison and Mason. They both looked around sixteen, with brown hair and incredibly expressive faces, they seemed to be in sync with all their reactions, nodding together or leaning in unison. Also, Blaine noticed they had a tendency to finish each other’s sentences.

“Our parents were arrested when we were twelve years old for unable to keep their ‘marital contract’ or something--” Mason said.

“--So we were taken in by these foster parents--” Madison continued.

“--Who were really stuck-up--”

“--Like, super mean--”

“--So before our Matching ceremony--”

“--Which would be next year--”

“--Because we’re Matched at seventeen, see--”

“--We decided we should leave!”

“--Yeah, because we had heard rumors of the people surviving beyond the border--”

“--And honestly, anything sounded better than living in a world where you’re bound to ‘contracts’ about _everything--_ ”

“--There’s ‘ _sibling contracts_.’ Meaning, like, you had to spend at least an hour a day with a chosen sibling--”

“--Don’t forget the ‘ _friendship_ contract’--”

“--The ‘classmate contract!’--”

“--Ugh, those were the worst.”

It was like following a ball bouncing back and forth, but Blaine’s sure he got it. As if he just had an adrenaline rush from their voices alone, he inhaled and complimented them on supper. That, of course, started the ball again.

“Thank you!” Madison beamed. “Ms. Sylvester assigned us to food duty--”

“--Which means we gather everything. From roots to fruit--”

“--To hunting, and fishing--”

“--Yep! We’re good at it too!”

“--It’s the twin telepathy, I _swear_.”

Santana rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like that’s not creepy.”

“It’s not!” the twins protested at the same time, which only caused Tina to burst out laughing and Santana shoot them an _I told you so_ face.

By the ominous _Outsiders_ name one would expect rugged bandits or thugs, hardened by the wilderness and more animal than human. But, the more Blaine examined the more he saw this was just a patchwork family. They were all comfortable with each other, all having each other’s backs. Maybe it wasn’t planned like that...but it certainly turned out that way.

Soon, Becky was shouting to them through cupped hands that they better be going to sleep soon, damnit, or the boss will not be happy with sleepy travelers in the morning. “Travelers?” Kurt asked, standing with the rest of them and then offering his hand to Blaine.

Tina nodded. “Yeah, we’re moving camp tomorrow. Heading north!”

“The rules are different across the country’s border,” Santana clarified, adjusting her shotgun on her shoulder. “There’s no Utopia’s up there. No wasteland. If we are accepted in...we’ll be living in the free world basically.”

“You’re coming with us?” Brittany asked, eyes going from Kurt to Blaine. “Right?”

As the others headed in different directions to their chosen shelters, Cooper included, Kurt took Blaine’s hand, tugging him back. He turned, seeing his husband’s body silhouetted by the dying fire, looking someone tense and nervous. His fingers flexed inside Blaine’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked, knowing that face.

Kurt took in a deep breath and sighed, rubbing his arm a bit. “Sue said we didn’t have to come with…”

Oh. He didn’t expect that. “Uh...okay.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Do you not want to?”

“I--” Kurt paused, not looking at Blaine’s face. His eyes wandered around the town, a place they didn’t think was possible to exist a few days ago. They weren’t alone out here anymore. There was a plan and people to help. They could finally escape to, well as Santana said, a free world. Didn’t he want that?

But Blaine waited, because he wasn’t going to put his wants and needs over Kurt’s. He’s learned that now. _Selfless, brave husband_. Maybe he could be that too.

“We have a choice,” Kurt said quietly. Now Blaine understood.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing their hands. The fire’s warmth was fading quickly now, but he didn’t mind standing there a bit longer. “And this won’t end in imprisonment or death or anything of that scale.”

“I know, I…” Trailing off, Kurt exhaled and cracked into a smile, giggling before hiding his face. “It’s weird, it’s just _weird_. I feel like I was just given this new shell for my skin, and I’m still adjusting.”

“I understand.” No more Officers, no more Mayor. No more stupid Artifacts Department or whatnot. They lived in a whole new world now. “But, I’m serious,” Blaine told him. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll come with you.”

Kurt stared at him like he was trying to read his face. But he wasn’t hiding anything--if Kurt wanted to stay, they’ll stay. If he didn’t, well, Blaine’s perfect world just had Kurt at his side. The rest he’ll figure out along the way.

After a breath, Kurt said, “All I’ve wanted was the perfect life.”

Blaine waited, until his husband finished with a smile, “With you and the ‘free world,’ I can’t imagine a better one.”


	13. Chapter 13

Morning sun cast light at their destination, and Kurt’s breath caught in his throat. After weeks of hiking, sailing, dodging rainstorms and beasts who reclaimed nature, they were finally here.

The Great Border, as Sue called it. A mile high and made of thick concrete, lining the edge which separated their world from the free one.

The Outsiders had departed on this journey all cramped in Santana’s pick-up truck, which thankfully relied on solar power. They managed to fit four in the front seats (much to Becky’s complaints) while the other six sat along the piles of supplies. Between a sack of extra shoes and Blaine’s body, Kurt’s legs fell asleep often. A small sacrifice for such quick transportation.

Blaine’s shoulder healed, within time. At one of their stops for the night, Brittany had taken out the stitches, leaving a pink scar in its wake. Kurt traced it underneath his fingertips that night, humming.

“It makes you look even more handsome,” Kurt remarked, smiling.

He got a few scars of his own, too. When Sue was deciding what job he should hold for the group, she suggested he try hunting and gathering with the twins. That ended in almost picking poison ivy, being scared of a mouse, and tripping over a protruding root and tumbling face-first on gravel. A thin line was left on his cheekbone as result.

While he blushed in embarrassment retelling the story to his husband, Blaine only smiled and gave it a kiss.

“You look even more handsome,” he told him.

Crowded together in the bed of a pick-up for hours meant plenty of time to chat, which meant the three could finally reveal their story of escaping Utopia. Cooper’s version was so dramatic, focusing more on his trials of prison than actually crossing the border. He pointed a lot, and reveled every time he made someone gasp. When Blaine told the story, he surprisingly didn’t focus more on the before, rather than the after. He didn’t leave out how it was his fault they too ended up in jail.

But Kurt’s tale, it wasn’t one to be glossed over. When his husband and brother-in-law were napping or taking their turn in the front seats, he gathered the runaways near him, starting from the very beginning.

It was a love story, after all.

Santana began a running joke within the Outsiders, about Kurt and Blaine’s ‘alone time.’ It all started because they purposely moved their sleeping bags out of earshot of the rest of the group. They failed in subtly. Santana claimed she heard their ‘ridiculous moaning’ one night, and even tried imitating them until Kurt told her to shut her mouth, because he _does_ have enough control to not have relations with his husband in the middle of a _forest_.

(A total lie, but seriously, Blaine _promised_ he could be quiet…)

They had to abandon the truck and cross a lake in order to reach the free world. Not just any lake, but Lake Erie, which was apparently a big deal. Sue explained that through connections over the years of planning this trek, a boat would be waiting for them.

A really dated, run-down boat, which constantly sprayed water in Kurt’s face any time he tried to get used to his sea legs.

The Great Border wasn’t as frightening as Kurt pictured. It was just _massive_. Clouds peeked around the edge of it, floating on by in the blue sky. _Blue sky._ It had been so long since Kurt had seen that color. A human-sized entrance was ahead of them--rectangle, double cement doors closed off as expected. Also, he noticed odd, cannon-like weapons at the very top of this wall. Their thin noses turned towards them.

The Outsiders, with their bulging backpacks and grimy clothes, stood silent, craning their necks up at the sight, until Santana asked, “Well, now what?”

Sue just sighed and slipped on her sunglasses. Yes, even though they had lost multiple supplies along the journey--including tents and food--Sue’s sunglasses managed to survive intact. She walked to the door, hands behind her back.

A square screen flickered then appeared on the concrete, right at her eye level. The group mostly reacted in a gasp, but Blaine immediately went and grabbed Kurt’s hand. Smiling a bit, Kurt wiggled his fingers, as if to tell him, _Blaine, a holographic screen isn’t going to hurt us._

An anonymous face came on the screen. Pixelated and blurry, it stated in a masculine voice, _“Any foreign travelers are forbidden to enter beyond--”_

“Yeah, yeah,” Sue waved it off in annoyance. “Listen, skippy, my name is Sue Sylvester. Daughter of Doris Sylvester. You may have heard of her. She made a deal with you ex-Canadians for safe passage quite some time ago.”

Kurt gripped Blaine’s hand as the screen processed this.

“ _Doris Sylvester,_ ” the voice recited. “ _Spoke with a representative of the Council on June 28, 2133. The Council approved of her request--”_

“Alright, thank you for the history lesson, pal,” Sue muttered.

“What’s going on?” Brittany whispered to Santana.

She scoffed. “Sue’s mama made a deal with whoever the hell is over this border that we’d get in. Except I don’t think Sue counted for _expiration dates--_ ”

“Zip it, Lopez, I can hear you.”

“You think they’re gonna let us in based on an agreement that took place _forty years ago--?_ ”

However, the screen turned off and the doors began to open.

As the group held their breath and Sue tilted her chin up a bit higher, a figure emerged through the doorway, holding a large gun (not as ancient as Santana’s, yet not as high tech as the Officers’) in front of their body. Kurt caught a glimpse of the other side. He caught green grass and tall trees.

The figure was a man, looking around his early twenties, with broad shoulders and a square jaw. He wasn’t wearing any sort of uniform, just jeans, a black tee, and an unzipped jacket. _Officers don’t exist here_ , Kurt presumed. The man frowned at the group and stopped in front of Sue. Her gaze was unwavering.

“Ms. Sylvester,” he greeted, eyeing her up and down.

“Young man.”

“The name is Brody Weston.” His eyes flicked at the group. “You’re looking for entry across our border?”

Sue smiled thinly at him. “That’s correct.”

“Well, I can’t allow that.”

Her smile dropped. “I’m _sorry--?_ ”

Santana held Becky back before the girl started throwing punches, but Brody continued, “Without proper scanning. You may have special treatment, but we do have rules. Utopians are rarely allowed over here nowadays. What with your…well, pardon my language, but,” he flashed his white teeth in a grin, “fucked up laws and experiments.”

Sue’s smile slowly returned. “Well, there’s no arguing there.”

A hand lifted off his large weapon to dig something out of his back pocket. When the group grew stiff, he said, “No worries...it’s just an eye-scanning tool. If you’re not carrying any contagious diseases or mutations, you can enter. There’s a bus waiting.” He nodded over his shoulder. “It’ll take you to the nearest town.”

Sue said, “Thank you.” and took off her sunglasses in order to be scanned first. The Outsiders awkwardly shuffled to form a line. Kurt glanced at his husband, raising his eyebrows.

If the free world had taken precautions of foreign diseases or mutations, what were other Utopias out there _doing?_

The process moved by quickly enough. Brody would lift the device up to the right eye, press a button, and a red light would appear to scan the eye. The tiny screen on his side would make a confirming _beep_ and he would let them enter.

Half the group was across by now, and Blaine’s turn came next. Kurt’s heart sped in pace, for no good reason either. Their Utopia was cruel, but not _barbaric_. He had no reason to worry.

Yet the seconds of Brody scanning Blaine’s eye had Kurt holding his breath. The beep came regardless, and Brody nodded him along.

Kurt stepped forward, jaw rigid as he stared directly at Brody. The man looked bored at this point, like this process was an inconvenience on his part. The cannons still pointed at them, Kurt noticed, probably a caution if they decided to fight through. _Odd_. If the free world had this type of weaponry, knew about the mistreatment of humans, why weren’t they going out and doing anything about it…?

The red light was uncomfortably bright as it traveled left and right. However, after a few seconds it flashed and the beep was different. Brody frowned at his small screen.

“You can’t pass,” he stated.

Everyone in the group was utterly confused, Kurt especially. He looked over Brody’s shoulder, where Blaine waited near the rest behind the opened doors. His husband’s eyes were huge and in shock. He reached towards Kurt, saying, “No, that’s not right, that’s…” Helpless, bewildered, and angry. And Kurt didn’t know what to do.  

Sue craned her head, staring not at Kurt but Brody instead.

“Scan him again,” she said.

“The device said he’s marked positive. I can’t let him pass--”

“Your _device_ is busted. Scan him again.”

The tension in the air sparked like lightning. Kurt could only stand frozen, his stomach ice cold while the blood from his face drained. Brody reluctantly lifted the device again and Kurt’s mind whirled. _What’s wrong with me what’s wrong with me I’m gonna be stuck in this wasteland alone forever--_

The red light scanned left and right. Then it vanished with the confirming beep sounding off.

The relief that washed over Blaine was so strong he looked ready to fall to his knees. Even Sue’s shoulder’s relaxed. Kurt hurried past Brody and didn’t even gather he was stepping onto another country until his lungs caught up with his heart rate, and he looked up and the Great Border was behind him.

His husband was beside him again and now holding him and Kurt felt dizzy. There was no doubts or dangers anymore. They were finally free.

* * *

Funny. Their journey together began in a brand new home, and here they are in another one. Blaine thought it was poetic.

Brody’s bus was a deep, green color with muddy wheels and the interior smelled like dry leaves, but it drove the Outsiders on a bumpy road through the thick forest. The air felt cooler, fresher even. It seemed like the first time in weeks the group could relax.

Santana’s shoulders fell and she hung her head. The twins closed their eyes and rested against each other on a shared seat. Tina dropped her bag to the floor and stretched her arms above her head.

But Blaine couldn’t help but smile to himself as he scanned over his exhausted friends. Through all trials and troubles, through _everything_ , they had made it.

The town they arrived in was bigger than Blaine expected. Brody explained, after the wave of puzzled faces, that the United States wasn’t the only one suffering all those decades ago. “This nation changed a lot, too. They’ve rebuilt cities, replanted forests, rearranged their government. This city that’s coming up has houses galore.” Brody chuckled to himself. “Citizens from all over need a home. You foreigners will get everything you need.”

Houses _literally_ crammed the hilly neighborhood the bus drove through. Brody dropped them off soon enough, and a tall lady with straight blonde hair greeted them. She dressed similar to Brody, though she looked a bit older. No weapon was on hand though, only a clipboard.

She introduced herself as Holly Holliday, which Blaine thought was the best name ever, and she wasted no time letting the Outsiders know that she was the one in charge of this section.

“My boy Brody radioed in, said there would be newcomers.” She swiped the screen of her clipboard. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll just need your names and we’ll get you into assigned homes in no time.”

Santana arched an eyebrow. “What? It’s that easy?”

Holly blinked at her. “Why, yes. We used to have Utopians escaping here all the time. Well, that was _before_ the outbreak and whatnot, but still. This dance ain’t new, sweetheart.”

While Santana looked unconvinced, Brittany squeezed her hand excitedly.

When Holly heard Blaine and Kurt had the same last name, she perked up, asking if they were married and, since that was the case, they automatically got a home together. It was, in a word, small. Not as tiny as Blaine’s childhood home and definitely not as big as their first house together but, still theirs.

One bedroom, one bathroom. A front room that was a connected kitchen and living room. The siding was off-white but the roof was grey. There was a tiny front porch made of painted boards. They had their own mailbox, Blaine saw, with a little red flag.

Blaine needed those first couple days and nights to process all this. What had he expected when they arrived here--open expanse, fireworks? Another mansion for him and Kurt to spend the rest of their lives? They were lucky they had a roof over their head.

From the knowledge he gathered, everyone in this country was packing up and heading south. The weather north wasn’t livable. The forests were either too toxic or were in the process of replanting. This city was one of the few organized places one could live.

It was also quite strange, to live in civilization once again and not be...expected to _do_ anything. Like, a job. Sure, there was volunteer work. Blaine saw men and women leave their houses every day to help build more homes or craft other essentials. You weren’t required. People did this out of the kindness of their hearts.

Or, to get out of the house.

Blaine thought his husband would go mad at their too-close-for-comfort space. But Kurt did what he does best--kept busy. He didn’t talk much the first few days, just unloaded their old and new supplies and put them in proper places around the house. Like this wasn’t anything new, they had just moved, no big deal. Maybe he was dealing with this shift on his own, and that was okay.

Cooper lived nearby, in a house shared with Madison and Mason. He could be their big brother, since they had no other guardians in this world. Cooper could now experience what he missed out with Blaine, which would be good for him. Plus, the three were such talkative people, they could keep each other entertained for hours. Once everyone was settled, perhaps Blaine could invite them over for a get-together.

To be surrounded by their tightly knit group and then suddenly separated was a strange transition.

On the third day of moving in, it rained. Blaine sat on the sofa, knees to his chest as he watched the droplets slither down the window.

He heard Kurt’s footsteps come closer, and without moving his head, he said aloud, “Are we in a better place?”

The footsteps stopped, but Kurt’s voice was close. “What?”

Now Blaine looked away, up at his standing husband. “Is this world...better than before?”

Kurt frowned, slowly taking a seat beside him and resting a hand on Blaine’s knee. “Should I be concerned that _you’re_ the one asking this?” He was half-joking.

Blaine sighed, unfolding his legs so he could sit comfortably, still facing Kurt. “I just...feel... _off_ now, like I’m…” He gestured his hands. “I’m _useless_ now. I’m only existing and I don’t…” He could feel his throat grow thick, so he swallowed and took a breath, trying again.

“I wake up, and there’s no cameras. There aren’t any Officers here. It was different outside the border but now that we’re back in one I’m…” Blaine huffed out a humorless laugh. “I guess I’m _waiting_ for something still. Like this grand calling that somehow the free world would provide. But, no one’s telling me _anything_. And I know that should be a good thing but it’s so damn _weird_.”

Kurt smiled a little and took his hand, squeezing. “I know. It’s drastically different than what we’re used to. It’s like...they cut our chains and said, _‘go be free!’_ But we don’t know what that is.” He swallowed oddly, looking down at their hands and blinking a few times. “But, I’m trying, at least, to find a calling. I, uh, there were wildflowers growing by our house.”

Blaine’s mouth opened wordlessly, until, “What?”

Kurt smiled. “Mhmm. Really small, yellow ones. I was so surprised, since the grass is sparse as it is with the houses but--yeah. Right beside our porch.” His smile broadened. “I’m decorating our home with them. We could use a little color.”

Turning his head, Blaine began to see what Kurt was talking about. How had he not noticed before? On the kitchen countertops and on top of their refrigerator, they were gathered in bundles and put in a drinking cup filled with water. With the walls being cement grey as was the floor, Kurt was right. They stood out like sunshine in the room.

Blaine found himself smiling as well. “They’re lovely, Kurt.”

His husband was nodding. “It’s the small victories.” Then, he hesitated before, “And, uh, I also thought to ask Ms. Holliday about the volunteering because--I can’t do construction or gardening but, someone has to make the clothing, right?”

Staring at Kurt’s face, Blaine watched it slowly start to light up as he continued, “I mean, I know how to sew and design and measure and, I-I’ve always wanted to make clothes and maybe _that’s_ my calling--” His mouth couldn’t catch up with his words as passion took over. “I-I could help design certain uniforms for the volunteers o-or, or people who guard at the Great Border or, you know, um, uh, newcomers like us, or even--”

“Honey,” Blaine cut in, grinning like crazy, “that sounds _perfect_ for you.”

Pink appeared on Kurt’s cheeks as he shrugged. They sort of received new clothing along with the supplies for the house. Hand-me-downs, Blaine guessed. Today Kurt wore a pale green sweater with a too-wide collar. His jeans were faded to almost white and too short around his ankles, but he made do. He was Kurt, after all.

“You’ll find your purpose,” Kurt assured him. “I know you will.”

Blaine twisted his mouth and looked out the window again. Three young children were splashing in the puddles across the gravel street, siblings by the looks of them. Their bare feet were caked in mud, and one boy had some streaked across his cheeks. But they were laughing and shrieking with joy. Wildflowers grew next to their front porch, too.

It was an ongoing transition, but he knew this world was better for everyone.

Letting his body relax, Blaine asked, “Do you remember our wedding night?”

Kurt blinked at least four times before saying, “Which part? How we ate supper on the couch or the sex? A lot happened that night, Blaine.”

He laughed, shaking his head fondly. “I remember being so in awe of the house. It was so _spacious_.”

“I remember you wanting a cute, little dog.”

“I still do.”

“Oh, of course.”

“I was so nervous around you.”

“You? Nervous around me?! You went in for the kiss first, mister.”

“Because I was nervous!”

Kurt was laughing so much dimples appeared. His cheeks were glowing red. “I was scared out of my mind. Here I think I know exactly how my future is gonna turn out and, _bam_ , out of nowhere this handsome boy drops into my life.”

Blaine hummed, looking down at their hands.

Kurt rubbed Blaine’s knuckles with his thumb, saying quieter, “I was so, _so_ terrified to make the wrong choice back then.”

Eyes going back up to him, Blaine asked, somewhat hesitantly, “Do you feel like you made the wrong choice?”

And with zero hesitation, Kurt smiled softly and shook his head.

Thunder rumbled outside, but their house was warm. Come to think of it, even though they now officially were secluded and graced with privacy, the two hadn’t taken advantage of it. Tragic, really.

The pale green sweater slipped off with ease. Goosebumps scattered over Kurt’s bare chest as he giggled in delight. Their new bed was quite plain in their simple bedroom, but Blaine spotted those yellow wildflowers on the nightstand as he crawled over his husband’s body. He grinned into their kiss.

They were both vastly different people than from their wedding night. Kurt had been all shivery nerves when Blaine kissed him the first time, but now he was certain on his actions. He got a grip on Blaine’s shirt and wrapped a leg around his waist, flipping him onto his back and laughing at Blaine’s surprised expression.

Maybe this was their permanent home. Maybe it wasn’t. Blaine, for the first time ever, was content with that knowledge. Besides, his life was perfect enough that all his concerns were aimed at what sinful things Kurt was currently doing while straddling his hips, and how despite that Blaine was incredibly tempted to reach up and tickle his husband’s armpits…

(Kurt’s warned him before, but oh, it would be _so_ worth it…)

But, he knew Kurt was right, he’ll find his purpose. He’s young, they both are. They, finally, have all the time in the world. There’s no rush or pressure anymore.

And that in itself, was a beautiful freedom as it was.

As predicted, Kurt shrieked and flailed his limbs at Blaine’s tickling attack. Their bland bedroom filled with laughter and Kurt cursing betrayal at Blaine. He didn’t, however, refuse Blaine’s oncoming kisses.

Rain pattered down their window. The yellow wildflowers fluttered on their nightstand.

* * *

Tina joined Kurt to volunteer in the clothing department. It was pleasant to have a familiar face along for the ride. Besides, Ms. Holliday was more than happy that there were more helpers.

“Many hands make light work!” she proclaimed as she tapped out their names on her clipboard.

In the long and low-ceiling building where all the clothing was made, Kurt and Tina sat by each other at a long table where different cloths and materials were piled up. Other volunteers--mostly women--sat near them. A majority of the rectangle windows lining the back wall were propped open, letting cool breeze enter the hot, bustling room.

The requests echoed around him. “We need denim jeans, women’s size eight!” “Someone needs to patch up this polyester jacket! Anyone?” “Hey, go look if we have any spare child’s shoes. Sneakers, size three?” “I need more red thread over here, thank you!”

It was like a factory of hand-me-downs ready to be altered. Kurt’s eyes would not stop lighting up at all the opportunities lying ahead of him. While he and Tina did their assignment--given it was their first day, they were to resew missing buttons--his eyes traveled over the piles of clothing sitting in front of him.

Perhaps that’ll be his impact--making the free world the best-dressed nation in history.

“Blaine hasn’t found his calling yet,” Kurt told Tina on their fifth day there, tugging his needle through the cloth.

She frowned a little and looked up from her task. “How’s that?”

“Well, first he volunteered to work with the construction team.” He had his own hard hat and everything. Blaine looked so happy to finally be out of the house and _doing_ something. “But he had no passion there. Sure, he was building shelters for new residents, but...he’s expecting something different.”

Tina nodded. “Mmm. And then what?”

“Well, the next day he talked to Santana and Brittany, asked what they were doing.” Tina’s roommates were apparently _not pleased_ that Kurt and Blaine had an entire house to themselves while they had to deal with a third wheel. Tina doesn’t mind, but she was upset that she wasn’t rooming with Cooper, or even neighbors with him. (She’s clumsy with any sort of flirting so far, and he’s oblivious as it is. It’s not a working combo).

“Did he volunteer at any of their positions?”

“Volunteering at the Great Border with Santana was a bust. He said it didn’t feel right, to be handed a weapon. That’s not Blaine.”

“Mhmm.”

“I thought the daycare with Brittany would be solid.” Volunteering parents with small children could have others look after them in a building much similar to the one Kurt’s currently in. “He--he was never too excited about the idea of children of our own but, I thought at least being _around_ some would have him realize he would be great with them.”

“And?” Tina raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t the children. He adored them. But, he said the other adults didn’t trust him. He tried playing games he played in Third District as a kid, but none of the other volunteers allowed it. They were mostly older women and, they weren’t open to any new _male_ ideas.”

“Oh, Blaine.”

Kurt sighed. “He’s become kind of defeated.”

“He could work here with us?” she offered.

Kurt chuckled. “Tina, I love Blaine with all my heart, but he could not stitch together anything to save his life.”

She laughed as well. “Oh, jeez. Well, there’s always the option to be like Becky and Sue. Just relax in your home and take the rest of your life as a vacation. No one’s _required_ to do anything.”

Go-getter, hardworking _Blaine_ would never settle for that. Not when he’s come this far for a new life.

However, when Kurt did return home that day, he certainly wasn’t expecting the sound of Blaine giggling in their tiny living room, clapping his hands at the noise of something scratching against the floor and then... _barking…_

Kurt craned his head, shrugging off his coat while his jaw slowly dropped at the sight of his husband squatting on the floor, encouraging the energy from a shaggy-haired, greyish-brown, huge--as in _gigantic_ \--dog.

Blaine had gotten a dog.

And it was not small. Kurt could not get over how _big_ this animal was.

Blaine finally looked up and saw Kurt. His ecstatic face fell a tad. “Oh, honey. I-I didn’t think you’d be--”

“ _Blaine. Devon. Anderson. Hummel_.”

“I can explain.”

The dog, who sat and thumped his tail against the floor, tilted his head around and stared at Kurt with round brown eyes, panting excitedly.

Blaine tried pulling off the same puppy-dog eyes. “His name is Leo.”

The dog thumped his tail faster.

Kurt gave Blaine an expression that said, _We need to talk_ now.

They could hear Leo whining outside their bedroom door (because Blaine refused to let him wait outdoors). Kurt had his arms crossed and Blaine was talking a lot with his hands. They sounded like actual parents the way they were arguing.

“Listen. Leo was a stray. He was wandering outside of Cooper’s home looking so sad and lost...and when I took him to Ms. Holliday, she said he was abandoned by his last owners. I couldn’t leave him too!”

“Blaine. He’s _huge_.”

“Well--”

“The top of his head reaches your _waist_.”

“But--”

“Our house is so small, Blaine! I bet he needs to run in open spaces, and we do not have that available!”

“How do you know? Maybe he likes the coziness of our home!”

"Blaine. We cannot keep him.”

"Kurt.” His husband looked close to pleading, with his hands clasped and his hazel eyes wide and watery. “Can we, please? I...I’ll take care of him. One hundred percent. I’ll take him on walks and I’ll groom and bathe him and, I’ll clean up whatever mess he makes, I promise. I’ll ask Ms. Holliday myself if there’s any dog food to spare and if there isn’t, I’ll...I’ll find something for him--”

Kurt’s stance softened. Blaine would do _anything_ to keep Leo around. He realized, with a slight ache in his heart, that the whining, furry dog waiting for them to return was Blaine’s _calling_. He finally found one.

And, Kurt...Kurt couldn’t take that away.

He lifted a hand to cut Blaine off. “Fine.”

Blaine’s mouth hung open mid-word for a moment before, “Wait, what?”

“I said,” Kurt uncrossed his arms, “that you can keep him. _But_ , I expect you to fulfill your promises. I do not want to step in any mysterious puddles, no matter how _cute_ or _sorry_ the dog is…”

Blaine’s face gradually split into a wide grin. “You’re serious?”

“And he is _not_ allowed up on our bed, okay? And he can’t go digging into our wildflowers.”

Blaine was smiling too wide and bright to really care. He stepped forward to Kurt, hands on his arms, absolutely _beaming_. “I love you. _So_ much.”

“And he better not shed everywhere.”

That didn’t stop Blaine from kissing his pouting lips. Then when Kurt tried to say another rule, he just kissed him again. And again.

And perhaps they would’ve continued, if it wasn’t for someone pawing impatiently at their door. Blaine found it amusing, but Kurt knew it would take time to get used to.

Still, he would say it was nice to see his husband so cheerful again.

* * *

One month living in the free world, and Blaine woke up in an empty bed.

Well, not completely empty. At the foot, a large lump curled up, and he lifted his head when Blaine began looking around. Funny enough, Kurt ended up forgetting all his strict rules when it came to Leo’s residency. It was impossible not to grow a soft spot for the dog.

Blaine knew it was only a matter of time, but Kurt would claim he didn’t know what Blaine was talking about.

It was still nighttime. Crickets could be heard outside their window. Blaine lifted back the covers and made way to the door. Leo decided to use this extra space to his advantage and sprawled out on his side.

Blaine loved that dog. The gentle giant who made way into both his and Kurt’s hearts. But the mystery now was where his other love vanished to…

The kitchen light wasn’t on. However, off to the side, on the couch pushed up against the large window, a certain figure curled against the armrest with knees drawn to his chest. He stared out at the silent street outside while nursing a cup of something warm between both hands, and turned his head when Blaine came near.

“Hey,” Blaine whispered, sitting next to him and touching his leg.

The moonlight caught Kurt’s small smile. “Hi.”

“Bad dream?”

Kurt looked down at his cup.

The trials they went through hadn’t been forgotten. Between the two of them, nightmares weren’t an oddity. Blaine was the first to get them. Back when they were traveling to the Great Border with the Outsiders, he had a dream where he was locked back in prison. The walls would close in around him. After waking in cold sweat and a pounding heart, his eyes adjusting to the fact that he wasn’t alone in a cold and empty cell. He was okay. He was okay.

Kurt’s dreams generally included that dash from the choppers, that time Blaine was shot. He would wake up crying, sometimes sobbing. The dream varied every time: Kurt never figured out the code. He did figure out the code but Blaine got shot in the heart. There were a thousand choppers instead of three. Blaine ended up dying in Kurt’s arms.

So now, Blaine assumed that was the issue. His thumb rubbed in a circle on Kurt’s fleece pajama pant leg, patient for a response. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kurt exhaled slowly before lifting his cup weakly. “Hot chocolate,” he said, that small smile returning. “When we were _allowed_ to in the winter, my mom would make it for me. I wasn’t sure we would have the proper ingredients but, we did.”

He then sighed, staring into his drink and working his jaw. Blaine didn’t say anything. He knew it was best to wait. The blue-ish pale light cast shadows to the left side of Kurt’s face while the opposite almost glowed. No tear stains, which was a good sign. The crickets could be heard outside again.

Kurt glanced over at him and said, “I dreamed about Mercedes. And Sam. And Finn and Rachel and Isabelle, too.”

Taken aback, Blaine could only open his mouth at first, unsure how to respond. After the initial shock he asked, “Was it...bad?”

Kurt shook his head. “No. Not at all. We weren’t in Utopia, but we weren’t here either. But we were all together, and happy. I think _I_ was the only one aware that something was off.” He swallowed thickly. “I-I ran up to Sam and began telling him how sorry I was for leaving him behind. He told me there was nothing to be sorry about. Finn said the same. Isabelle just...hugged me…”

His blue eyes, brighter in the moonlight, grew wet for a moment. Instinctively, Blaine readied to reach for him, but Kurt continued, “We shouldn’t have left them behind, Blaine.”

“Kurt,” he said quietly, hand still on his leg. “They _chose_ to stay--”

“But not Mercedes,” Kurt interrupted. “Not Rachel. Not every other helpless citizen there, who have been brainwashed not to know any better. And what about Tina’s Utopia? Or Santana and Brittany’s? Did _those_ people have a choice to stay?”

“Baby--”

“Why hasn’t the free world done anything about it?” Kurt asked, voice rising with each sentence. “They have the weaponry. They _know_ what the Utopias have done. Surely, someone would’ve thought to save these people!”

“Kurt, sweetheart,” Blaine said gently, taking the cup of hot chocolate (now cold) from Kurt’s hands. “You’re right, but it’s late. Let’s go back to bed. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

His husband scoffed. “ _Nothing_ we can do? Says the man who defied our own government until we broke every law possible to escape.”

“That was different. Your idea is on a much grander scale.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

Blaine, who was beginning to stand, hesitated. “Well, no--”

“We have to do something.” Kurt ignored Blaine’s hand to help him get up and kept talking. “They could still be alive. We could still _save_ them.”

“We could,” Blaine wiggled his fingers. “But can it be in the morning?”

Kurt twisted his mouth in a half-smile, reluctantly accepting the hand. “Fine.”

On their bed, Leo had happily claimed the majority of it for himself. Instead of scolding him, Kurt lifted up the blanket until the dog got the message, and rolled aside to make room. Content under the covers, Kurt placed a hand on Leo’s spine, petting him slowly.

Yawning into a smile. Blaine said, “You love him.”

Kurt shrugged. “I never said I didn’t.” Then he met Blaine’s eyes, saying seriously, “But I meant what I said before. I’m not leaving them behind anymore.”

Blaine nodded against his pillow. “I know.”

* * *

The Council wasn’t anything like the Mayor. Firstly, they were real-life people, who were all elected in their position by citizens of the free world. Secondly, they were not hidden or secretive. All six showed their faces when Kurt approached them that day.

Ms. Holliday called the building City Hall, but the luxury of large, empty rooms for the purpose of showing off wasn’t available in this time. Blaine could see, from his bench outside, the clutter of supplies and furniture stacked inside the tall windows. At least they were being smart with their space.

Leo whined where he sat on the gravel, his head leaning to rest on Blaine’s knee. Smiling, Blaine scratched between his ears. “It’s okay, bud. Kurt’ll be out soon.”

It’s not like Blaine wasn’t allowed inside during the meeting. Kurt needed to do this alone. It was his speech, his plan, his request. Besides, he had rehearsed multiple times in front of Blaine beforehand. He’d be fine.

The weather was partially cloudy. Blaine figured he should pass time by taking Leo for a walk, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“They’ll listen to him,” Blaine told Leo, petting his neck. The dog wagged his tail in appreciation. “And when they do, you know what that means? You’ll be able to meet all our friends from Utopia.”

Leo simply blinked up at him. Blaine pushed the fur back from his eyes. “Maybe even my mom. But god knows if she’ll even want to leave.” _Or if she’s even alive_. Blaine tried not to dwell much over that idea.

While Kurt stressed over the problems of overpopulation and portions of basic needs, Blaine wondered if this enterprise would even be _worth_ it. After they had gone, who’s to say that the Mayor hadn’t targeted those who helped them as punishment? Would any of their loved ones even _be_ there?

“Even if they’re not,” Blaine said quietly to himself, still petting Leo, “it’s the right thing to do.”

City Hall’s door opened with a loud creak, and Blaine and Leo turned their heads together as a familiar figure emerged. His hair still in the perfect swoop he spent hours on this morning, Kurt slowly made way down the steps, ears tipped pink as his round eyes stared straight ahead.

Blaine stood and led Leo with his makeshift leash and collar. “Hey, how’d it go?” he asked, frowning a bit at Kurt’s expression. His husband looked shell-shocked. “Kurt?”

Slowly, Kurt faced him. Mouth parted, he inhaled deeply and Blaine feared he would faint--well, he feared many things in that single moment. Any form of horrible news rang loud in his ears, and his heart filled with dread. All that hard work, for nothing. Any form of hope, gone.

Until, the words exited Kurt’s mouth in a single breath.

“The Council approved.” His face split in a wide, overjoyed smile. “They said yes, Blaine.”

* * *

Kurt never pictured himself getting into politics. However, he never pictured his life being the way it is now, either

He’s not complaining, though.

The process had not been a smooth ride. Once the announcement came that volunteers were needed to help rescue other Utopians within their own cities, people had all sorts of opinions. Former Utopians who had been in the free world for years had been supportive, which was good. Yet those who disagreed seemed to have the louder voice.

People argued. People protested. It was surprising how _passionate_ those who disagreed were. One would think they’d be open over the idea of sharing their freedom. They tried to tear Kurt down, the one who started it all.

Remember the time he almost didn’t make it into the border thanks to a malfunctioning scanner? Word got loose and that incident was used as a weapon. Rumors said Kurt lied, Kurt was a spy, Kurt planned to spread whatever infectious disease he had. Blaine was more furious than him, but Kurt wasn’t worried. A few harsh words didn’t matter next to the cause.

Sue often joked that Kurt single-handedly began an uproar in a peaceful nation. Then she laughed and slapped his shoulder, saying his mother would be proud.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. Kurt, who began this whole situation, eventually had to end his time making the clothes. Which was heartbreaking, since he truly felt at home among the fabrics and threads, but that’s not what fate was asking from him anymore.

However, he was content. Besides, he still saw people wearing his designs around the neighborhood.

Blaine’s love for Leo got him back in touch with the daycare center. The other adults there couldn’t turn him away again, not when the small children simply _adored_ the dog any time Blaine and him would pass the building on their daily walks. Now, Blaine spent his days playing with the kids, even singing to them on the instruments available. He glowed every time he retold stories about them at the end of the day, Kurt saw it on his face.

Blaine, who had been so hesitant on the idea of children in Utopia, now had his heart devoted to them. Life was funny like that.

The two wouldn’t adopt any children of their own for years not come, not until they were finally at peace with their past nightmares, but this is how Kurt would say their story ended:

Their little family--Kurt, Blaine, and Leo--stood at the Great Border, along with the former Outsiders and many other citizens of the free world. It was a momentous day indeed. After years of fighting and resistance, war and loss in the other land none of them got to see, the first batch of Utopians were being brought over.

The Council told Kurt it wouldn’t be pretty, that to free all those people would come at a cost, and he knew. He knew the risks. But right now, it might all be worth it.

He felt Blaine squeeze his hand. He could hear Leo whining beside him, impatient to wait.

The crowd of hundreds murmured behind them. Perhaps they were doubting the success? _Perhaps they are right_ , Kurt thought anxiously. Maybe the free world’s troops had failed and saved _no one_. Maybe no one _wanted_ to leave. Maybe no one survived.

"Hey,” Blaine said next to him, and Kurt turned too fast. “It’s gonna be alright.”

“And what if it isn’t?” Kurt whispered.

“I’m still proud of you,” he replied with a gentle smile. “Always the man on a mission, and now you’ve rescued our friends with your sheer will-power. _That_ is only something Kurt Hummel can do.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m your husband,” joked Kurt.

“I’m saying that because I’m _proud_ to be your husband,” Blaine corrected, smile growing. He looked nice today, he finally had access to gel again. Kurt thought he was handsome no matter what, but it made Blaine happy. “From day one I’ve been proud.”

“Even when I was a Prissy?”

“And I was a Low Life.”

“Our marriage has been quite a ride if you think about it.”

“But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

 “Mmm.”

“I love you, you know that?’

“Of course. And I love you.”

Leo nudged his snout between their linked hands, desperate to be petted. The two laughed.

The sun began setting when the vague crowd appeared, the orange-yellow glow casting long shadows. Kurt shielded his eyes with a raised hand at the upcoming Utopians, all of them on foot and being led by the troops from the free world. His heartbeat sped, thumping as fast as a rabbit.

Everyone from the free world hushed, watching as well. Two huge worlds colliding. This was history being made right in front of their eyes.

The gap between the two worlds grew smaller and smaller by the minute. Kurt could see the faces of the Utopians--exhausted, confused, in awe at the Great Border. Everything Kurt felt as well. There wasn’t as many as Kurt hoped, and he feared, _maybe his friends hadn’t made it--_

Blaine squeezed his hand, and whispered excitedly, “Look.”

In the front, right behind the troops, was the faces that took Kurt’s breath away. He covered his mouth to hold back a cry. Blaine’s arm wrapped around him, and he could hear his husband laughing in joy.

There was Mercedes and Sam. Finn and Rachel. Blaine’s mother. Kurt couldn’t spot Isabelle, however. Deep down he knew that was expected.

Though the rest, they were safe. They were _here_. He saw Mercedes break out in a beautiful smile and wave their way.

Noises of happiness could be heard from the citizens from the free world. Relief came from the Utopians. Madison and Mason hugged Cooper in celebration. Leo wagged his tail excitedly. Sue smiled in appreciation behind her sunglasses.

 _Someone needs to keep pushing for a better world,_ his mother once hoped. Her dreams were coming true, too. His parents hadn’t died in vain. People were finding freedom.

Tears rolled down Kurt’s cheeks. He had to take a moment to close his eyes.

All he’s wanted was a perfect life. Now, with his husband and one true love at his side, and friends around him and coming towards him, he knew that he had it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, Leo is an Irish Wolfhound!! Yeah, those things are massive. Way to go, Blaine.  
> Secondly, thank you so so much for reading this fic. I'm sad it's over, but I'm very proud of it. I had such a fun time writing it and seeing so much positive feedback was amazing. Thank you thank you thank you <3


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